


Mine's An Ordinary Life

by Moku



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Asexual Character, Camille was a bitch, Clan bonding and feelings, Did I say slow build?, I meant glacial build, I tried to be nice to Clary, M/M, Oblivious Simon, Raphael is a Little Shit, Simon loves to mess with Clary's sleep, Simon-centric, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Some angst, Tropes, but what's new, clan feels, mix of TV and book lore, my bad - Freeform, shameless fluff, un-betaed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 129,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moku/pseuds/Moku
Summary: ‘Mom, I made friends, tell me how proud you are and come meet them,’ Simon texted to Clary after about four months back to the hotel.Clary’s reply half an hour later consisted of a row of happy emojis, a thumbs up and the question ‘when’. Simon mulled it over, before answering with ‘I’ll check with dad.’ Which earned him an unexpected call at 3 in the morning.‘You call Raphaeldad?’ Clary’s voice shrieked through the phone, adorably sleepy and at the same time hilariously hysterical.Simon laughed loudly down the line for several seconds. “What? Pssh no!Lilyis my dad.”~Simon returns to the clan after Camille was turned in by Magnus. Stuff happens.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago
Comments: 175
Kudos: 284





	1. Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> So. I did this. I hate myself. This was supposed to be a writing exercise to get rid of my headcanon for these two stupid idiots. Now it's a ~70k something, filled with tropes, some angst and my messy attempts at humor. I was supposed to work on my originals goddammit. It was my first holiday in almost _three years_. Well, what happened, happened. The only reason I'm uploading this is the fact that there are simply not enough Saphael stories and I felt like terrorizing the fandom with my own thing. 
> 
> There's nothing original in here, and no real plot, it's simply Simon's life with the clan, finding some self-value and falling in love with Raphael (and vice versa, I guess). I'm stressing again that this is slow build. I honestly have no idea what I did here. I'm sorry.
> 
> It starts after S02E04. Lore is mostly from the books but I tried to keep in line with the TV series with whatever had been mentioned. The timeline of the series is a mess. It left me very confused.
> 
> Raphael is a mix of book and TV series Raphael. To balance that was harder than I expected and I'm pretty sure I didn't make it work. Sorry for that as well.
> 
> Title is from Phil Collins "Take me home".

Lily showed up when Simon was pacing back and forth in front of the Hotel Dumort, mumbling to himself, hands kneading through his hair. She stopped a couple feet away from him, looking him up and down. Simon wasn’t sure if he should be glad or disappointed that it wasn’t Raphael. While they hadn’t exactly parted on bad terms after Magnus’ fake-errand it wasn’t like they were in any way, shape or form actually friendly with each other.  
  
“What do you want, Simon,” she opened, legs apart, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, looking like she was prepared to stack him if she didn’t like what he was going to say.  
  
“So, Camille is kind of… gone now.” Lily raised her brows. “And I thought maybe we could… negotiate that standing killing order? Like, maybe erase it and maybe, if that’s okay with everyone, I don’t know, let me come back. To the clan?”  
  
“The kill order I can understand, but why would you want to come back?” she asked, sounding nothing but honestly curious. “You never liked being here. Pretty damn sure you hated the clan.”  
  
Simon couldn’t really hold it against her. The short time he had been with them he had been acting like a spoiled brat, kicking their hospitality with feet and spitting on it for good measure. He wasn’t even talking about Camille. It was about how he never really let go of his humanity and barely accepted being a vampire. How he had spent more time with werewolves and Shadowhunters and by association with one particular Warlock. How disgusted he still had been with other vampires, and on a deeper level, himself.  
  
“I, uh… it’s because. Pretty much… selfish reasons.”  
  
“Selfish reasons,” she repeated, her tone free of intonation.  
  
“Yes, selfish reasons!” Simon snapped, then reeled back. “Like, you are the only ones that can and are willing to properly train me, more or less. You have blood, fresh blood. Not the old animal blood I get from the Institute that tastes like someone threw up in it, or the junkie blood they sometimes sneak in knowing full well that it keeps me buzzing for a day and a half like I’m on a caffeine high.  
  
You have the same day–night rhythm I have and I hate how loud it is during the day in the Institute when I want to sleep. I hate tiptoeing around everyone because accidentally brushing against a Shadowhunter is apparently perceived as a threat. And I hate constantly watching my back, wondering who is going to just randomly snap and stab me with a stack, because why the hell not. And I hate how they whisper about me behind my back, knowing I can hear them.”  
  
He threw his hands in the air and picked up his pacing while he continued to list his long lists of ungratefulness about the people that sheltered him without asking for anything in return. He was an asshole, and he knew it.  
  
“The smell of the boat house is suffocating. It’s all dirty water and mold and the Chinese restaurant right next to it makes me sick with all that oil smell. So much oil and fish. I’m really, really glad Luke let’s me stay there but the werewolves hate me just as much as the Shadowhunters. It’s the same insults, threats and disgust. The only difference is that the werewolves don’t need to stand next to me to know when I’m eating, because they can smell it a mile away. So while I don’t have front row seats to their disgust I can still hear them talking as soon as I open a blood pack.”  
  
Frustrated he stopped his pacing, his shoulders hanging. “I just don’t feel at home. Not like I… sort of started to feel here.”  
  
Lily didn’t interrupt him once, continued to look at him without any emotion betrayed by her features.  
  
“I messed up. It’s like they say, you don’t know what you lost, yada yada. I didn’t realize how… warm and comfortable being around other vampires was, even if I still sort of struggled with my preconceived notion of vampires being monsters. It’s like, you know, I’m fine with _other’s_ being vampires, but being one myself? I didn’t want to deal with that. I wanted to forget that, but living with you didn’t let me, so I ran away, from myself and from you. And… and I never had a problem accepting Luke for being a werewolf or Clary being some half angel. I thought I was doing fine. But I was… am not. I’m not fine. I’m fucking miserable.”  
  
What he didn’t say was ‘I started to miss you’ and ‘I think I really need you’ and ‘You made me feel safe’. He didn’t deserve to say those things.  
  
“And you think coming back will change that?” Lily finally spoke.  
  
He looked up at her. “I… I hope it will?”  
  
“That was a yes or no question, fledgling.”  
  
Simon swallowed. “Yes, I think it will.”  
  
“So what do we get out of this deal?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You get food, a roof over your head, maybe even a family, so what’s in it for us?”  
  
Simon huffed out a sarcastic laugh, turning his head away and letting his hands fall flat to his side. “Nothing, really, I guess.” It was neither more or less than they had gotten the first time, what with Simon being Simon. They hadn’t talked about terms for staying the first time around, they had simply taken him in, mostly because Camille was the one that had killed him. Maybe there had been some lingering guilt for dragging him into this. He wasn’t sure. Maybe they never really expected anything from him in the first place. He didn’t even join on his own free will back then. He had just been a bargaining chip, maybe some kind of hostage. It didn’t really inspire loyalty in the first place. However, he hadn’t been treated like a hostage or a thing to use against Clary. He had felt more like an equal. Still didn’t explain why Raphael would be asking for Simon becoming a clan member in exchange for joining sides with other Downworlders.  
  
“Not the answer I was looking for,” Lily said. “But it’s expected. You're lacking any self–value. You think your life is disposable. All you do is make one stupid decision after the other without even contemplating the consequences and then someone else has to clean up after you. You come here apologizing for what you did? Don’t fucking lie to me.”  
  
Simon wasn’t sure in what direction this conversation was going, but it certainly stung hearing her say this. “I never apologized,” he muttered under his breath. Lily was pushing against his shoulder in the blink of an eye.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“I said,” Simon started again, looking her in the eyes. “I never said I was sorry. I said I messed up, because that’s what I did. I did something that hurt you and it’s nothing I can apologize for. I did it, and I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t thinking about the clan, not even trying to find another way, I was just going with the flow. It didn’t get better when Aldertree threatened me. I’m aware of that. I fucking know it. The only reason I helped – and help really is a stretch of the word here because I more or less just stumbled around a bit and got accidentally lucky – find Camille was because Raphael threatened my mother. I wasn’t even willing to clean up my own fucking mess, like you said! I realized that, I had enough time to think about everything. Hindsight 20/20, I was an asshole. Now I’m here and I’m willing to try and do whatever it takes to make things right.”  
  
Lily took a step back. “He threatened your mother?”  
  
Simon stilled, bewildered by what she choose to pick up from all this, then shrugged helplessly. “Well, he bought her coffee and told her I was touring with my band. So he was more threatening _me_ with my mother not my mother directly? She loved him by the way. I still get messages asking me to invite him for dinner even though I _told_ her he is evil! She thinks he hung the fucking moon and I’m acting like a baby because I can’t handle discipline. Charming asshole.”  
  
Which was one of the most confusing things Simon had to unpack when he was sleeping in his boat and contemplated the on-goings of the last couple days leading up to Camille’s imprisonment. Not only did Raphael actually listen enough to his prattling to know that he was in a band, that they were playing once in a while, that they weren’t half bad, that it was his passion and actually remembered all that. But also got his _mother_ , who thought music was a waste of time and good enough for a hobby but not to pay the bills, to agree to let him tour and _combine_ both his musical and accounting career.  
  
That was a miracle in itself.  
  
There had been no sign of that ensnaring thing Camille had done to Simon. His mother’s eyes had been a little watery but probably because she had been really happy to see him. No trace of that glassy kind of zombie like feeling he still remembered from their encounter. Furthermore, it was pure accident that Simon stumbled over them, as he was supposed to _look for Camille_ , so for all Simon knew, Raphael hadn’t even planned for Simon to _know_ about the meeting.  
  
Of course he only realized that days later when he let himself go back to analyze the situation, not feeling as high strung as he did back then, when he worried she was drunk and close to some horrible fate. Honestly, considering the circumstances, it was one of the few things he actually cut himself some slack with.  
  
They stood in silence for a while, Simon letting his eyes roam the vicinity until he finally was brave enough to look at Lily, who was biting down hard on her lower lip. He knew they had gone a little of course and the silence between them was stretching but at least she didn’t look like she was out to kill him. Not that she ever did, but he had seen Lily fight. She was the person that calmly walked into a battlefield, ignored the massacre around her and then pummeled the first unsuspecting victim into the ground with one well aimed punch.  
  
Lily was unpredictable and hardcore.  
  
“So, you betrayed us not once, but twice,” she summarized eventually.  
  
“You didn’t know? Raphael never talked about the,” he made a motion to draw invisible crosses on his face but stopped abruptly. Lily watched him expectantly, probably waiting for him to finish, but he clamped his mouth shut.  
  
“Simon.” Lily’s voice was cold as ice.  
  
“Aldertree asked question about that weird den. I gave him some random answers so he’d leave me alone. I didn’t know that it was one of Camille’s and that it would lead back to you. _I didn’t know!_ I never even mentioned any names and he just came up with the conclusion that suddenly Raphael was behind all that.”  
  
The woman pushed him with both hands against the shoulder, keeping them tight over the bones. “Out,” she growled. Simon blinked in confusion, assuming she told him to go, even with the odd phrasing and her iron grip on him. “Every thing out. We will clear the air, you tell me everything that happened, _everything_ , and then we’ll start with a blank slate, you–” A long string of foreign words followed. He didn’t need to translate whatever she was yelling because it was clearly an insult. Either many or a very long one. It neatly tied back into snarled English as she continued her rant. “And then we will take you back and we will teach you, because you’re a liability with your smattering of knowledge. How can one stupid fledgling be so much work? It’s unbelievable. This conversation didn’t even go remotely the way I thought! No wonder Raphael was always agitated around you.”  
  
“I have that effect,” he mumbled lamely. “Wait. Did you just say you’ll take me back?”  
  
“That has always been the plan, you moron.”  
  
“Really? But… but that was before I told you about Aldertree…”  
  
Lily huffed in annoyance. “That one’s on us. We never taught you to shut your fucking mouth around those assholes because whatever you say will be twisted and turned against us. You still think they are the good guys, because they are your best friend’s friends. Well it’s not so easy anymore.” There was a dangerous glint in her eyes and Simon involuntarily took a step back. “But we will teach you this time. We won’t let you out until we have beaten that piece of information into that stupid brain of yours. Now get inside. You stink and you look like shit. Get yourself some blood, because whatever they have been giving you wasn’t nearly enough. After that we will have a long chat in Raphael’s office and _then_ you’ll head straight to your room and I don’t want to hear another peep until I come to pick you up for your punishment. Godness, you’re a hazard just by being you.”  
  
Simon gulped at her words, stared wide-eyed at the hotel and the distinctive figures that had gathered at the entrance. For a moment he wondered if he was going to have to run the gauntlet with whips or throwing stones or whatever the vampire equivalent of that was. Maybe Holy Water.  
  
Yet, steeling himself, he slowly put one foot before the other, faked some bravado and ascended the stairs to the Hotel Dumort.

  


Simon met up with Jacob, Elliott, Lily and, to his utter damnation, Raphael in the clan leader’s office. Every once in a while he let his eyes catch Raphael’s while he retold what happened that lead up to Magnus sending Camille off to Idris. Not once, not even when Simon reached the point when they met in Magnus' apartment, Raphael still scarred by whatever torture had been afflicted on him by Aldertree, did the Latino give him any sign to stop talking. Frustrated, Simon just let it spill out in a mixture of confusion, aggravation, shame and resignation, angry tears at his own incompetence and cowardice prickling behind his eyes by the time he finished.  
  
Raphael just looked bored.  
  
However it was obvious the other three were hearing about this for the first time. Jacob didn’t show much emotion, but from the little Simon knew about him, he never did. Elliott looked mostly uncomfortable. Probably because Lily next to him was the personification of an active volcano waiting to explode at the slightest provocation.  
  
Jacob was the one to send Simon out of the room, letting him know he was supposed to follow Lily’s instructions from before, with the final advice to stay out of Raphael’s way unless Raphael explicitly sought Simon out. Simon barely caught the fleeting expression of surprise on their clan leader’s face at those words as he hurried to slip out of the room.  
  
Lily exploded before the door fell shut.

  


The punishment wasn’t what he had expected.  
  
To be fair, his limited imagination had cooked up stuff with a lot of pain, maybe what they had done to Camille. He had not expected to spend days in a small cinema that was tucked into the corner of the first floor of the Dumort. How he had not found this place the first time he had been staying there was beyond him. Until he remembered that he had spent more time cooped up in his room to suffer in some self–pity or outside of the Dumort pretending he wasn’t a vampire.  
  
Leave it to Lily or, more likely Raphael, to take one of the things he loved the most and combine it with the most boring, black and white, underfunded videos ever produced. About vampire history. Vampire history in general. Vampire history of the New York Clan. Vampires vs Shadowhunters. Vampires vs Werewolves. Vampires correlating to other Downworlders. Some vampire etiquette. Shadowhunter history, Werewolf history, other Downworlders history, a bit on Warlocks and Angels. Badly, badly re–enacted war and crime scenes, blurred and wobbly cinematography, over voices without intonation that reminded him of his 60 year old history teacher, who had repeated the same shit over and over again for the last 35 years of his life just to different students with the same degree of indifference every fucking year after his motivation had died out approximately five years into teaching.  
  
Simon wanted to die.  
  
He honestly wanted to step out of the cinema and walk straight into the sun. At one point, he actually begged whoever passed by the room to let him out and just put an end to it. All he got in return was a low chuckle.  
  
For the most part, he knew that these videos were utter propaganda bullshit. He wasn’t talking about the bits painting the Night Children in the light of misunderstood creatures, who had to fight constant oppression because of the bad reputation their ancestors had build – and wasn’t that fun, telling that to a Jew.  
  
No, he was talking about the wildly thrown around hate towards _other_ Downworlders. The hate towards Shadowhunters, while in his opinion still exaggerated from what he had seen, was somewhat understandable. Dictators were never well liked. Feared or hated, even by the ones that actually benefited from their rule, but not loved. What he seriously didn’t wrap his head around was why the hell they were on a warpath with the people who suffered the same fate.  
  
Even though he actually had started to actively and earnestly watch the videos at one point, getting angrier by the second and yelling at all the foolishness like it was a trash horror movie where people always made _the worst_ decisions, he never found an answer that explained all that _hate_. This was the equivalent of a feud that started generations ago, reason long forgotten, but the ugly feelings nurtured and growing generation over generation until it was just something that _was_.  
  
In the end, when he sat in silence for about an hour after the last video had stopped playing, he wondered why they had made him watch this. Raphael, Lily, probably every one in this hotel had to have realized the stupidity of these videos.  
  
“That’s our starting point,” Raphael said from the door, startling him out of his thoughts.  
  
Simon turned to look at him, a cocktail of emotions running haywire in his system. “What?”  
  
“That’s what the old ones truly believe. It’s indoctrination, you find it in every clan and every Downworlder.” Raphael’s eyes were focused on the screen. “Anyone with half a brain realizes it’s nonsense.”  
  
Simon scoffed. “Don’t act like that. You hate werewolves, too.”  
  
“I don’t particularly hate werewolves, nor do I care for them. They have their uses. I simply don’t trust them. Especially not around my clan.”  
  
“Could have fooled me, the way you treated Luke.”  
  
Raphael sighed in exasperation. “Oh please. Trading insults is common courtesy between our races. Politeness doesn’t get me far with their kind. They’d probably expect a hidden agenda if I asked nicely for anything.”  
  
Simon hated how reasonable his argumentation was. Obviously Simon and Luke went way back and his pack still threatened and ostracized him just because he got himself killed by a psychopath and turned into a vampire. Even Alaric had changed tones the second Simon had become a Child of the Night _and they used to be on good terms_.  
  
“It’s stupid,” Simon complained, sounding like a petulant child.  
  
“Then change it.”  
  
He furrowed his brow at the reply, head whipping around to read more off Raphael’s face but the other vampire had left the cinema already. “Training starts on Monday. 9PM sharp,” was the last thing he heard. 

  


While Simon hadn’t met any other clan members during his days back, because he was confined either to his room or the cinema, he met almost all of them during the weekend after that. Some treated him with a cold shoulder, most with disinterest, a couple with curiosity but all of them kept their distance. Nobody threatened bodily harm, though there was the occasional hissing when he passed someone in the hall. Lily was the only one that didn’t leave a room as soon as he entered it and actually stayed to talk to him a little.  
  
Therefore it wasn’t a surprise that he spent most of his time in his own room, feeling a little sorry for himself but mostly – and surprisingly – happy, that he was back to the Dumort. And if he were honest, though he didn’t have Clary or Izzy around, the atmosphere was still better than in the Institute or the boat house. He didn’t feel like he had to watch his back 24/7 and nobody bothered him when he was in his room. He felt safe and relief finally settled into his bones.  
  
However, after a few hours being bored out of his mind, talking to himself because there was no one else to talk to, he remembered the cinema, and took it upon himself to explore the hotel further, starting with the cinema, because there had been a door he hadn’t dared enter at that time and he sure wanted to find out what that was about.

  


He met Raphael on Monday in the training room. Raphael didn’t give much away in form of feelings or expressions and they resumed their training as if it had never stopped. However there was a subtle change that left Simon disconnected.  
  
Raphael wasn’t talking to him unless he was explaining the training session or giving him advice. He was a little rougher in handling Simon’s failed attempts. He also wouldn’t linger around after they were done, leaving without even looking back while Simon was usually still on the ground and trying to get his bearings back after whatever throw or move had left him fumbling for reality.  
  
Whenever Simon tried to engage him in banter or conversations, Raphael just pushed further in his training, fighting faster, kicking lower, hitting harder until Simon was rendered to hide behind his hands and avoid damage.  
  
It irked him.  
  
Anger he could have worked with, he could have worked with insults and hatred, but this complete void left him bereft of any measure of communication, of any attempt to start fixing whatever had cracked between them when he had freed Camille, broken when Raphael went ahead to threaten his mom and completely fell apart in Magnus’ apartment after Raphael had been tortured by Aldertree because Simon had been too slow in tracking Camille down.  
  
This wasn’t clan related.  
  
Simon was aware that this was personal. He was also aware that Raphael was completely capable to make a clean cut between personal business and clan business, not letting one interfere with the other if it posed a problem. It was the reason he was still willing to train Simon, it was probably the only reason Raphael stopped sometimes reminding him to feed. Doing those things with a friendly taunt, some teasing, a prepared glass of blood in hand – that had been in the past and probably been the personal part of it.  
  
Missing the safety of Dumort had been one thing. Missing his interactions with the other vampire when they were alone in the gym after training or the common room or his unnecessarily large walk–in closet, when he had dropped the facade of clan leader and was simply Raphael, the guy who didn’t understand pop culture references – ‘What’s this got to do with Sparta?’ –, who was hilariously bewildered by the concept of periods in messaging as a symbol of dread – ‘No one’s dying! It’s just a period, Simon!’ –, annoyingly confused Star Wars and Star Trek _all the time_ – ‘Aren’t they the same thing?’ –, and prided himself in his immaculate fashion sense – ‘You’re going to a Wedding, not a job interview for a fast food chain.’ –, that was entirely different.  
  
Because that was, what Simon wanted back.  
  
Still, the right thing to do was probably to stop poking the bee hive, to just ignore this gaping empty hole between them.  
  
So he did.  
  
For a while at least.  
  
After a month, he wasn’t surprised that he snapped. He was, however, surprised that he didn’t last longer.  
  
“Stop doing this,” he growled, annoyed and hurt, because this wasn’t fair. A part of him told him he should suck it up and keep his mouth shut, because Raphael was still there and training him, and at the same time astonishingly _ignoring_ him. Marveling as it was, it bothered him a lot. “How can I make this right, if you don’t give me a chance?”  
  
Raphael lifted his chin, lips pressed tightly together, eyes dark and sharp. Simon knew there was something he wanted to say, knew there were words held back, refused to tell him what was going on. Simon was having none of it. He was going to drag those words out if it was the last thing he did. “I know I started this, but you were completely out of line! You wanted to kill me for busting Camille out. Camille made your life a fucking hell for decades and you let her live! How does that even compare?”  
  
Watching those lips start to move in a reply that never came frustrated Simon more than he would like to admit.  
  
“Can’t we talk about this? You know, just get over this? I fucked up. Okay? I. fucked. up. I fucked up when I followed Clary around like a dog. When I got caught by you. When I returned to the hotel, even after your warning. When I called you a monster and blamed you for becoming a vamp. When I hated you for everything that wasn’t even your fucking fault. When I tried to play you. When I blackmailed you. And I know that Camille was the top of the ice berg in a long run of me acting like a four year old. I mean, I keep thinking about how things would have turned out if I had handled things differently, if I had talked to you again instead of sneaking Clary in. But ‘what if’s’ won’t change anything. What’s done is done, I can’t change it. But I can try to make things right. So what, Raphael, do I have to do so we can start over again?”  
  
“You can begin by becoming a better vampire,” Raphael replied, disgust lacing his voice. When he turned around, Simon knew he was going to walk away, had decided that this discussion was over. Simon used his super speed to block his way, before he even knew what he wanted to do.  
  
“That’s what I’m trying,” he hissed, because that was the truth. He took everything Raphael taught him and practiced in his room, using the gym even if training wasn’t scheduled, working on listening further and getting a better grip on his senses and controlling his hunger.  
  
Raphael raised one eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “No, you’re not.”  
  
Before Simon was able to reply, he felt a kick against his leg, quickly loosening balance. Instead of hitting the floor as he had expected, another kick was aimed at his stomach and threw him right against a wall. Air pushed out off his body, a sick crack resonated in his head as he hit the stone, almost losing conscience from the pain. It took him forever to blink the darkness away, but when he did, Raphael was towering over him.  
  
“You have been here for weeks, hiding and sulking in your room, skulking around with your head down. You’ve learned nothing. You aren’t trying to become a better vampire. You’re learning how to become another soldier. And the only reason you do, is because you want what? Forgiveness?” Raphael knelt down, hand reaching out, fisting into Simon’s hair, pulling his head back so their eyes met. The anger on Raphael’s face left Simon speechless. “Let me tell you a secret, Lewis. I don’t care for your mistakes and I don’t care for excuses. So if that’s all you have to offer, we don’t have anything to talk about.”  
  
Lily suddenly appeared next to them. Raphael let his hair go and stood back, then huffed in contempt as he left the room, walking deliberately at a human pace.  
  
Lily knelt next to Simon, hands hovering over his body. “What happened?” she asked with a hint of irritation.  
  
He blinked her into focus, slowly sitting up, checking the back of his head for any injuries but while there was still a lingering ache, the crack he had assumed there had healed already. “He just hates me,” was all he replied, hating how pathetic he sounded.  
  
Lily clicked her tongue. “He doesn’t hate you.”  
  
Simon laughed.  
  
“He thinks you can do better.”  
  
He shock his head but refrained from replying.


	2. Too Weird, Too Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon stops wallowing and talks with some vampires. Clary comes for a little unannounced visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! 
> 
> Please drop me a note if something doesn't make sense. Usually I have someone to talk to about my stories and they let me know when something doesn't work, but sadly, not for Shadowhunters. :(
> 
> Title from Eternal 42 - Too weird, Too normal

Simon stopped trying to talk to Raphael during their sessions. He mindlessly followed orders. It made Raphael even angrier which in turn led Simon to become even more submissive. Only good thing that came out of it was Simon making rapid improvements in controlling his senses and blood lust, even in his fighting, particularly defense.

Simon saw how much Raphael hated it. He didn’t know why. Maybe he was just that stupid, or maybe Raphael was simply wrong with whatever he expected. Simon was just tired of overthinking everything.

After another week Raphael reduced their training sessions in increments. The reason he gave was simple: Simon didn’t need it anymore. Which was probably true. While he knew that the control of his senses wasn’t perfect, which had more to do with the fact that Simon was actively shutting everything out, there was nothing new Raphael could teach him to make it easier. The rest was mostly experience and learning-by-doing. It made sense. The only training session they kept was self-defense and fighting techniques. Sometimes Simon thought it was because Raphael needed it as some form of stress relief. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

With even more time on his hand and even less social interactions, Simon decided to finally do something about the awkwardness and loneliness surrounding him. While he had been lazing around and thinking – not sulking, thank you very much – he realized the only people he ever thanked for taking him back had been Lily and Raphael. However according to Lily, the decision had been made by the whole clan.

Simon didn’t know why they had agreed to take him back. He barely knew the other vampires – his fault, no denying. There were a few he had talked to, Bernice one of them, but even she was avoiding him. Still, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he simply accepted that they did, for whatever reason, and finally got his shit together by making the first step.

So Simon found himself with a list of occupied rooms – courtesy of a rather suspicious Jacob – going around the Dumort and knocking on every door to tell whoever was behind it how grateful he was they took him back in. While the animosity around him had died down over the past month – not a single hiss or passive-aggressively leaving the room in over a week, yay! – he still had failed at making any attempts to talk to other vampires.

Mostly because Simon had thought he should wait for them to approach him, which in retrospect was a cowardly move on his part. It wasn’t like they needed anything from _him_ and if he wanted their goodwill he should probably start asking for it.

So this was as good a start as any, he had figured.

Simon actually expected doors slamming in his face. However most of them listened to his rambling with varying degrees of exasperation written over their faces. A handful offered a friendly hug. The majority told him to shove it. ‘Bridge under the water’, they said. ‘Hoped he learned his lesson’, they said, with a hint of a threat if he hadn’t.

A couple wanted to hit him. The first time someone asked if they could punch him, Simon was more taken aback than afraid. After all, they were vampires. They’d heal in the blink of an eye. He figured it was simply chasing some form of satisfaction. So he let them with a shrug. Usually it was mild. A broken nose or rip here and there, nothing too bad, considering he had betrayed them after they had taken him into their home. Simon wasn’t sure how forgiving he would have been, if he had picked up someone from the street, fed them and the next day woken up to an empty apartment and the person responsible asking to stay with him again a week later.

Maybe the comparison was lacking.

It went out of hand only one time. The guy, Derek, went full berserk on him. It was bad. It was so bad, that Simon actually fought back. For the first time since returning to the Dumort he was fearing for his life.

“That’s it little fledgling, show some bite,” Derek growled, every word followed by a punch Simon tried to block. Raphael had taught him well, he thought as he deflected the blows away from his head, the last one even right into the wall behind him. Derek didn’t seem to care that he had just broken his fingers, only pulled back for another punch but then suddenly stopped.

Simon moved his hands from his face in confusion, looking up to his aggressor who had his head turned to the right. When he followed the gaze, he saw Raphael in the middle of the hall, a few feet away, staring at them intently. Simon didn’t know if there were any rules about inter-clan fighting, if there was any punishment to be expected.

“Hey, Raphael, buddy,” Simon started awkwardly in faux-cheerfulness, sputtering through his blood filled mouth. Raphael wordlessly walked up to them, no urgency in his steps. Derek immediately pulled himself up in a stand, dragging Simon up as well with a hard grip on the shoulder. “This is not what it looks like,” Simon continued, wondering if he looked as messed up as he felt. “I sort of asked him to do it.”

Derek and Simon stood shoulder to shoulder, heads ducked like they were little children caught with their hands down the cookie jar, when Raphael eventually stopped in front of them. “I don’t care how you resolve your disagreements,” he finally spoke. “But next time use the gym. You’re blocking the way.” Without another look he pushed past them. “And Simon, feed _before_ you start fights.”

They stood in silence until Raphael’s steps faded. Then Derek pushed his shoulder lightly into Simon’s. “‘Feed before you fight’,” he imitated with a mocking grimace. “He’s such a mom.”

Simon chuckled. “Sometimes.”

Derek turned around, looking Simon up and down after running his broken hand through his short hair. “Got a little overboard,” he muttered before offering the hand. “Sorry. And welcome back.”

Simon smiled earnestly, returning the gesture. “Thank you.”

“Now let us get you some blood so you can properly heal. You still have a lot to learn, fledgling.”

When Simon walked past Maria in the common room, she just sat on the couch, one hand clasping the other, staring at the heavy black curtains. While she was unarguable the sweetest person in the whole of Dumort, Simon felt slightly antsy around her, reason being that she was weird. In the coo-coo sense kind of weird. When she was talking, she either did with her whole body or sitting completely still, not moving a single muscle. The topics she was talking about ranged from unintelligible gibberish to sophisticated speeches and inbetween single word sentences, switching back and forth in the middle of a word.

In a nutshell: unpredictable.

Maria was utterly unpredictable and Simon was still anxious around most vampires that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, so he usually made a wide berth around her, fearing the metaphorical shoe was going to be her. Even though Maria had never done anything to harm him, not even spoken ill of him, which might have something to do with Simon’s suspicion that she didn’t even knew who he was.

Moving close along the walls on his way to the kitchen to keep as much distance to her as possible, was most likely the reason it took him a moment to notice the stench of burned flesh. Confused he looked over to the other vampire, and then saw the source of the smell.

“What happened!” he asked, rushing over and taking her burned hand in his, careful as to not hurt.

Maria looked at him with a toothy grin, her eyes resting on something behind him. “Bird,” she said. “Caught, now it’s free.”

Simon stared at her. One of these moods, alright. He could work with that, even if it didn’t actually explain why she was burned, but he guessed she must have forgotten about the sun when releasing the bird from wherever. Or maybe she hadn’t cared about it. “‘s fine, it heals,” she said, attention moving back to the curtains as Simon continued to stare at the angry almost black flesh, wondering if there was anything he could do to help her.

“Blood. Do you want me to bring you blood? That should help, right?”

She hummed in reply. It sounded affirmative. Maybe.

Simon nodded slowly, dashed into the kitchen and returned with three packs of blood. Frankly, he was too new for this shit. He should probably get help from someone else, someone who actually knew how to handle injuries, because Simon’s knowledge was pretty much ‘you’re a vampire, if it didn’t kill you, it will heal’. Maybe there was medicin? Cooling spray?

Maria had her eyes closed, slowly swayed back and forth, humming a broken melody as he returned. “Is this enough?” he asked, watching her carefully in case she was going to topple over.

“Of course,” she replied after opening her eyes again, bright smile on her lips. She looked slightly delirious, pupils blown wide. Was there something like vampire fever? Simon had to research that, after he had made sure that Maria was fine. Confused, he realized that she made no move to take the blood from his hands.

“I’m sorry, do you want a glass? I’ll bring you a glass. Just a second.” Already up and ready to head back to the kitchen, he suddenly realized Jacob kneeling down in front of Maria, gently taking one of her hands. Simon jumped back in surprise. He seriously had to get that presence thing under better control.

“Maria,” Jacob said in a kind voice. “You have to drink.”

“Oh, right.”

Jacob slowly bit a hole in one of the packs, then moved it to her mouth and wrapped her hands around it so she could hold the pack herself. Simon watched them for a moment, musing what to do.

“She was Camille’s guinea pig,” Jacob explained as he pulled himself back into a stand. “The first to suffer from the cocaine addiction, too. Messed with her head a lot.”

“But she’s a vampire,” Simon replied, confused. “Shouldn’t that heal?”

Jacob barely looked at him. “The body can heal, but that’s in her head. Nothing we can do but watch over her.”

Simon nodded, threw one last look at Maria who was happily slurping her drink, the deep burn marks still visible. He pressed his lips together, before he returned to the library, researching vampire medicine for the better part of three hours. It was a lot of wasted time, considering there was barely anything to be found and the bit he did dealt for with how to make things _worse_. Yeah, so not what he was looking for.

Frustrated he went to find Lily, who was training a group of vampires in the gym. They were so fast, Simon had trouble following their movements, but he made out Derek who winked at him in passing, before he took his sparring partner out and smashed him to the ground in one fluently executed throw. Lily watched him out of the corner of her eyes as he approached, staying out of the fighting vampires way as best as he could.

When he finally reached her, a smile was playing on her lips.

“So, do vampires use medicine?”

The smile immediately slipped from her lips. Leaning her head back, tilting her chin up she finally half turned to look at him. “No.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“Vampires heal,” she said slowly, her voice underlined with an unspoken ‘are you stupid or what?’. “The few times we need help in healing, we go to Warlocks. But that doesn’t happen very often.”

Simon nodded, then returned to his room to get his phone and bugged Clary into giving him Magnus’ phone number. Deeply annoyed at the time he chose to annoy her, Clary sent him a couple friendly insults before she finally sent the number.

He waited till morning to call Magnus, figuring it would probably be better to have a well rested warlock to deal with instead of a sleep deprived one. Sometimes he was smart like that.

“So, Maria got burnt,” he started after a cheerful good morning.

Magnus was silent for a moment. ‘Sampson, it’s 9 in the morning, shouldn’t you be sleeping? And who is Maria?’

Simon ignored the first question and just dove right into the matter at hand, explaining what had happened, for some weird reason coming around full circle to the threat of burned off body parts from one of Raphael’s find-Camille-or-I’ll-burn-your-junk-off-spiels, which left Magnus uncharacteristically baffled but nonetheless amused, especially considering Raphael had never ever said those things to him in that way exactly. Simon was sure it had been implied. “And that’s why I’m calling,” he finished.

‘I still don’t understand.’

“Treatment. For burns.”

‘Darling, you do realize vampires heal?’

“It still hurts,” he whined “And burn marks take a really long time. Isn’t there something that makes the pain go away or accelerates the healing?”

Magnus was silent for a minute or two and Simon wondered if the connection was lost or the glittery warlock just decided to ignore him, but a low humming pulled him back into the conversation. ‘There might be something. Probably not worth the trouble, because vampire healing.’

Simon rolled his eyes. “Just because we heal, doesn’t mean we have to stand the pain. Next time I see Maria burned up, I’d like to at least help a little. You-know-who knows she suffered enough from what I heard. Jacob said she was Camille’s guinea pig.”

‘Oh, you’re talking about _that_ Maria.’

Simon's spine straightened at those words. “ _That_ Maria?”

‘Tall, in her forties, blonde, a little on the plump side?’

“Yep.”

‘Poor woman. She was like a big sister, well, nevermind.’

Simon didn’t know what to say. He honestly didn’t know much about Maria apart from the fact that she was weird, kept spacing out a lot, liked knitting and crocheting, needed some tending every once in a while and occasionally referred to blood as tea. “So… uh… the salve or whatever?”

‘Oh, yes. You can come over as soon as it gets dark.’

“I have to clear with Lily first. I’ll let you know.”

Magnus hung up without courtesy and Simon stared at his phone, hoping he wasn’t going to get in trouble for _whatever_ that was. Sighing, he went to sleep and woke up a few hours before sundown. Lily was again easily found in the gym with another group of vampires. He asked her permission to leave and visit Magnus for a bit. She didn’t ask him what for, just scrutinized him with a calculated expression before she waved him off and gave him two hours threatening him with more house arrest if he weren’t on time.

The problem with the balm wasn’t the making as it appeared, but the ingredients. Magnus sent him all over town and a lot of those weird things he had to buy – what the hell was a Hubblepop? – were fairly expensive. Magnus was right, it probably really wasn’t worth the trouble but Simon was no quitter and some part of his brain suggested that it was good to have around considering how much of a clumsy dork he himself was and how often he had almost run into strayed rays of sunlight.

“This isn’t as effective as my magic,” Magnus explained, while Simon tried to reach Lily with his phone, letting her know that he maybe possibly might be going to be late. Scratch that, he was so evidently fucking late, he was sure Lily was going to decapitate him as soon as he returned.

The first time his alarm went off – fifteen minutes before the two hours were up – he had still been in the middle of the errand runs. He had sent her a message asking if it would be fine if he stayed out a little longer. She had replied with three emojis: facepalm, closed fist and wheelchair. She had however never replied to his follow-up question, if the combination meant ‘yes’. By the time Magnus was working on the treatment he had been gone close to three hours and every time he called, she declined. Which rude. “It will do the job. Almost pain-free depending on the wound and it should heal twice as fast.”

Simon watched Magnus stir, nodding to his words, finally giving up on calling, instead throwing himself on the leather couch. Alec was at the apartment, lazing in the bedroom but never once showing his face, which he thought was really mean. They weren’t best friends but a simple ‘hello’ wouldn’t hurt anyone. Then again, it was Alec, it probably _did_ strain his social competence to the max. “Thank you, really.”

“It’s still a weird gesture, but I guess it fits you. You’re a weird person.”

“The weirdest,” Simon replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. He was coming to terms with that. Couldn’t fit as a human, couldn’t fit as a vampire, really nothing new there.

“So,” something in the warlocks voice made him listen up. “Does Raphael know you are here?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I told Lily I was meeting with you. Why? Should I _not_ be here?”

“Biscuit told us you’re ‘grounded’.”

Simon smirked. For some reason he really liked other people adopting his term for what basically meant ‘You are incapable of leaving the house without fucking everything up so stay the fuck inside or come hell or high water we will end you and for gods sake tell your mother you’re fine and call her at least twice a week but make no promises for dinner’. It wasn’t only shorter but gave him a sense of normality.

“I believe that only relates to Shadowhunters. Something about me being a health hazard and my inability to stop rambling when I get nervous or anxious. You’d think Vampirism heals social anxiety. Looks like I’m stuck with that till the end of time. Oh wait, is that why Alec’s hiding in the bedroom? I thought he just didn’t want to see me, but now I’m thinking, are you like banning him from meeting me? Are you enforcing Lily’s rule in your own home? Should I have stayed in the hallway? I can wait in the hallway if you want.”

Magnus turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “Believe it or not, Vampirism is not a panacae for all ills. If it were, it would have cured your rambling. Poor vampires, do they have to suffer your rants all the time?”

“Only if they talk to me, which is basically never, so,” he shrugged, leaving the sentence open, crossing his arms in front of his chest. It wasn’t like he was rambling all the time. And it wasn’t like he was doing it to purposely annoy everyone around him. He was usually doing perfectly fine as long as he wasn’t in situations that made him uneasy. Though he had to admit that he tended to fall into the same pattern when he was excited, talking about a subject he was invested in. Talking was stress relief to him, but he couldn’t deny that at the same time it made him happy.

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He looked up into Magnus’ warm eyes, a gentle smile on his lips. “Give them time.”

Simon was confused, before he understood. “I wasn’t worried about that. I’m aware I’m an acquired taste,” he replied with a wry smile.

Magnus studied his face for a moment, before he stood tall, brandishing a vial in front of him with all his glittery glory. “I’m done. Take it and be off like a good fledgling.”

Simon jumped to his feet. “Alright, how much? Can’t give you my soul, ‘cause that’s gone. Also think of something I can actually pay. Like in compliments. Your eyeliner work is fantastic by the way. If that’s the right way to say it.”

The warlock honestly seemed a little thrown off. Simon wasn’t sure at what. He was fairly certain Magnus had gotten used to his chatter a long time ago. The question itself shouldn’t be a surprise though because Simon knew this was Magnus’ job. Bobbing on his heels as he waited for a reply, Magnus eventually shock his head, smiling. “You’ll own me a favor.”

“That’s vague, but okay. If that’s what you want. Nothing too bad, though.”

“Off you go,” Magnus only said with a sly smile, was even nice enough to magic a portal and push him through it. The portal led directly into Raphael’s office. Which _wasn’t_ nice. As soon as he stepped out of it and realized where he was, he turned around to glare at Magnus, who simply threw him a kiss and a wink.

Lily and Raphael stared at him. Then Raphael took a step forward to glare through the portal, a silent conversation of eyebrows starting between the other two men. Lily’s eyebrow, however, only twitched dangerously, but all she did was point out the door with her finger and Simon really didn’t have to be told twice, leaving backwards with a lot of rambling, stumbling over his own feet and finally dashing out of the office.

Luckily, the trouble was worth it. More or less. After he had treated a few of Maria’s burns – and that woman was more of a klutz than Simon was – other vampires caught on to his wonder mixture. He was surprised to realize how common burns were. One would have assumed after centuries of being alive they had gotten the memo to stay out of the sun, but there was always some stupid reason – someone cutting it particularly close with the sun rise, someone absentmindedly brushing too close to the heavy curtains, someone tipping a candle over. The burns were minor, but it was apparent that nobody actually wanted to suffer if they didn’t have to.

Simon decided to just leave the ointment in the kitchen for everyone to use, so they didn’t have to seek him out for it. He would just ask Magnus to make him a new one as soon as it was empty. Stock-pilling favors with a warlock couldn’t be that bad, could it?

“So, how are they treating you?” Clary asked, crossing her legs on his bed and curiously looking around his room. “I was really surprised when I got the message you were back at the hotel. Didn’t expect that, to be honest. And then you told me you can’t come out for a while because you’re ‘grounded’.”

“It was one of the conditions to let me stay,” Simon answered. “And they have been good to me. Really good.”

“What about Raphael?” The distaste in her voice was obvious. She didn’t even bother to mask it.

“Raphael, well, is Raphael.” He shrugged. “Still angry, I think, but he leaves me alone.”

“He’s such a child,” Clary said. “How long is he going to hold a grudge? He should just let it go.”

Simon opened his mouth, about to say something about throwing stones in glasshouses but then swallowed his reply. This was a test, he feared, looking at his best friend. Probably a test. Why else would they have let her in?

Especially after Clary had stormed the hotel, demanding to talk to him. Not even asking nicely, not even giving Simon any heads up, just appearing on their doorstep in the middle of the day. He had been _sleeping_. Simon hadn’t even dared to dress after the rude awakening and rushed into the lobby only in pajama pants, panicking and stuttering.

He had felt Raphael before he had finished one intelligence sentence, the Latino stopping in the middle of the stairs to look down at Clary with an unreadable expression. “Turn all your weapons over and you’re allowed to enter,” was all he had said. In the blink of an eye, Clary had been flanked by two other vampires.

She had looked at Simon, who had mouthed ‘do it’, because really, this had been _a fucking bad idea, Clary!_

Handing most of her weapons over, already moving to pull Simon in a hug, stopping, when he took several steps back, squirming in his skin as he shook his head. After all the grand words about how he was going to proof loyalty to the clan, it took him too much willpower to press out the words ‘All of them, Clary’.

She looked furious, but she eventually relinquished her favorite weapon, the one Simon knew she never left without but had not been among the others she had offered. She didn’t move in for another hug after that, but Simon had lead her back to his room under the observing eyes of the rest of the clan members, fully aware that two of them were now guarding his door.

He was sure, the only reason Raphael let her in was to test him.

He wasn’t sure he was going to pass that test.

Clary continued to go on a rant about Raphael and he wondered if she knew about vampire hearing or simply didn’t care. Simon just looked at her, letting his eyes wander her face. New worry lines marked her forehead, dark shadows under her eyes. Eyes that had always contained that sort of dreamy look of wonder before but now were sharper, angrier and sadder. She looked like the Clary he used to know, but also didn’t. She looked older, like she had aged a couple years in the blink of an eye, worn out and angry. It confused him and it must have shown because she stopped in her rant, warmth spreading back into her expression.

“Si,” she said, patting the space next to her. He moved closer and finally sat down, letting her pull him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he said truthfully. Because he had. Because Clary was family and home and love. He returned her hug and they just sat in silence for a long time. “I really missed you too,” he started again, then cleared his throat. “But you shouldn’t have come here.”

She froze, slowly leaning back.

“What are you talking about? It’s been almost two month. You won’t meet up with us, you won’t call, and you only reply in short sentences. I was worried. I mean, are you here against your will, is that it? Or are they brainwashing you?”

Simon pushed his head to the side, scoffing. “Of course not. I’m just bonding.”

“Bonding?”

“Remember how you always told me that I should go out and make new friends? Well this is me, making friends. Well I hope so. There’s Derek. He probably thinks I’m some kind of pet, but he talks to me and sometimes he trains with me so progress! Oh, and Lily is actually quite nice under all that gruff. Closeted romantic, I tell you. She loves romantic movies. I’ve seen her watching The Notebook about ten times. Or she’s just really into Ryan Gosling. I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Oh, and then there is Maria, she’s just the sweetest weird person you’d ever meet. She loves handicrafts. I think I have a Spiderman mask she made for me somewhere in my–” Still talking, he moved to jump off the bed, but a hand around his biceps held him back. He turned to look at Clary in confusion.

“Are you happy, Simon?”

“I’m… kind of?”

She continued to watch him. “You don’t look happy. You look sad and lonely.”

He fell back onto the bed. “I’m probably all of that? I mean, I miss my mother and sister, I miss Luke, and you and even Alec’s stupid eyebrow communication, and it’s not like I don’t know that most of the people here don’t really like me that much, which well, go figure. But it’s fun figuring this place out, learn something new about the people here. Like when I found this awesome gaming collection in one of the common rooms, board games, card games, RPGs. I got such a kick out of finding ‘World of Darkness’ and ‘Cards against Humanity’. I was really excited. Until I realized there’s no one I can play with.” Clary furrowed her brow. “Yet. _Yet._ ” He repeated for emphasize.

“If nothing else, I have time on my side. It will work out.” A shrug followed his words, before he remembered what else he had found during his exploration of the hotel in the last few months.

“Oh! And they have video games! Video. Games. For Xbox, PS1 to PS4, Switch, NES, everything, you name it. And Portal, Clary, they have Portal 1 and 2. Someone here thought Portal was vital for this private collection and I just want to find out who it is and hug them to the ground. They actually have some games here that are impossible to track down. Also pretty sure I saw the complete Yakuza collection. Goromi’s just the best thing ever.”

Clary looked at him with a tiny smile, encouraging him to continue when he stopped to measure her reaction.

“There’s a sort of private theater/cinema here, 30 people max I’d say with a storage room full of DVDs and Blu Rays and let me tell you, someone in this hotel loves Vampire movies, because there’s a whole shelf full of them. I found Twilight. Can you believe it? I thought I’d be the only one who’d want to bring this atrocity here. Someone beat me to it. I’m a little annoyed by that, actually.

There’s a room full of instruments and I have yet to find out who actually plays because I’ve never seen anyone in there. Maybe I can start a new band full of vamps? We can call us ‘Blood Orange’ or something like that.

The library has like really old books, and even comics from the fifties and stuff. Some recent stuff too, but it’s sourly lacking. As soon as I can I really have to add to that. And yeah, it sucks that I’m sorta alone right now, but that’s my fault. I have to power through now but it won’t help me to slink back to you with my tail between my legs and fall back into old behavior patterns. So I kind of need you to stop mothering me until I made at least two new friends. After that you can pat me on the head and tell me how proud you are.”

Clary chuckled at his petulant tone of voice, bumped her elbow in his side. “You dork.”

Simon returned the gesture.

“I don’t think they dislike you, by the way.” Clary said after a while. “They took you in, didn’t they? Or was that all Raphael wielding dictatorship around?”

Simon snorted. “Raphael had nothing to do with it. This is the re-enactment of a re-enactment but from what I gathered it was like ‘Raphael, this is a clan decision but you’re not allowed to participate because of reasons, now go take a walk, while we decide what to do and vote on it #weloveyou #hushnowbye’.”

Clary’s mouth dropped wide open, shaking her head. “Can’t picture him accepting that.”

“Well… this is more a democracy than anything.”

Clary looked at him dubiously.

Simon didn’t hold it against her. He was as much surprised to find out about the twice a month mandatory meetings than about finding out that they actually really voted on a few decisions and if they didn’t vote, Raphael and Gang – he was trying to spread the acronym RaG for them, Lily hadn’t been impressed when she found out – at least made sure to listen to the opinions of other clan members.

It was a long drawn out process, everyone stumbling over their words trying to regain their voice and relearning methods of debate without shouting at each other or ripping throats out. Raphael usually listened silently, looking mildly bored as he let Jacob – or if he was feeling vindictive, Elliott – handle the discussions and Lily the fights among clan members.

Simon doubted that this had been going on for long, from what he had seen it had been a rather recent development. Considering Camille, this was probably unimaginable under her.

“Welp, am I even allowed to reveal that? It feels like everything going on here is like one big secret.”

“Why shouldn’t you? After everything you said, I almost want to join your clan. Tell me you have an indoor swimming pool and an atelier with perfect lightening and I’m sold.”

“Atelier, yes, lightening strictly artificial. Haven’t found a swimming pool yet, but I’ll keep you posted.”

“Jesus, they really have everything, don’t they?”

“Eternity is a long time to be alive. One has to keep busy.” Simon laughed, stopped when he realized that Clary fell oddly silent next to him.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” She turned to look at him, eyes boring into him. He shifted under her gaze, not really knowing what to do with it. Whatever she was mulling over, he knew when she found her answer, nodding to herself. “It’s a good thing.” Before he had the opportunity to ask what she was talking about, Clary cut him off. “I think it’s time I leave. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Alright,” Simon replied, walking to the door with her. “Ah, before you go, uh, one thing.” She stopped, turning around to him. “I don’t know how to say this, but… what you did with the weapons, you know, hiding one, doesn’t really inspire trust. You shouldn’t have done that.”

She rolled her eyes, before sighing. “I knooow,” she groaned. “It’s just, there is so much going on and I don’t feel comfortable without protection anymore.”

“There’s enough tension already. Next time you want to come over, tell me beforehand. Give me a chance to talk to Raphael or Lily. Don’t just walk in here, demanding things. And please, Clary, please, don’t come during the day again. It’s _reeeally_ not our schedule.”

She frowned at him, obviously displeased with his reprimand, but she nodded and opened the door. Simon led her back to the entrance of the hotel and Jacob returned her weapons. They hugged goodbye and Simon tried hard to ignore the eyes burning into the back of his head as he turned around to go back to sleep.

When the scream echoing through the halls woke Simon in the middle of the day, he didn’t react at first. He knew it was a nightmare from someone somewhere on the floor. He also knew that Raphael was always quick to react and wake whoever was trashing and twisting in pain. However Simon couldn’t hear Raphael anywhere. Worried, he sat up immediately and followed another strangled scream to its origin. His steps brought him to Jessica’s door, one of the vampires he had a more or less friendly relationship with.

Slowly, he opened the door and entered the room, located Jessica’s coffin and leaned over her, trying to calm her with soothing words and fleeting touches, the way Raphael had done when Simon had nightmares, few as they were.

Apparently he had gotten one of the longest straws that the universe handed out to fuck vampires over for the rest of their undead life. While other vampires had nightmares as often as twice a week, Simon was blessed with them only every other month. It had been worse at the beginning, which was common, but they quickly lessened and usually only happened when he was under insane amounts of distress.

Jessica on the other hand, had gotten the short straw. She didn’t react to Simon’s coaxing and he had to fight her violent thrashing down with amazing amounts of strength. Maybe that was the reason Raphael always took care of the nightmares, because in their haze vampires were bound to actually hurt each other.

Simon had to wrestle with Jessica for another few seconds before he finally lured her out of the dream with more urgency and desperation in his voice but still trying for gentle. Jessica blinked her eyes slowly open, confusion written all over her face when she recognized him.

“Simon?”

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint, not Raphael,” he said with a quiet chuckle, leaning back to give her space.

She was silent for a moment, her eyes glancing to the open door but when Simon turned to follow her gaze, all he saw was a blur. It didn’t take a genius to know who it had been and Simon wondered if he had been intruding in some way, if it would have been better if he had stayed in bed.

“Thank you,” Jessica suddenly said, something wavering in her voice he couldn’t interpret. She studied his face for another moment, before a smile crept over her lips. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Sheepishly he duck his head a little. “No problem,” he replied, looking around the room for something to sit, before deciding to just keep standing at her casket, taking one of her hands and rubbing the still pulse point at the wrist with his thumb. “Is that okay? Raphael always did that, when I had nightmares.”

“Learned it from him, did you?” She laughed quietly, before settling back into the soft inlay. “And yep, it’s cool. Really comfy.”

They were quiet for a couple minutes with Simon wondering when he was supposed to make himself scarce, absentmindedly taking in the design of the coffin. It was rather flashy, gold adorned with different jewels, ruby, diamonds and sapphires.

Jessica hummed a quiet tune. “It’s nice,” she started. “I don’t feel comfortable making Raphael do it, but with you, it’s fine.” Simon stilled his movements, mulling her words over. It wasn’t like Jessica and his rapport had been that good, but hopefully, and he might just be a little conceited in assuming, she didn’t mean to imply anything.

As if she read his mind, her eyes flew open and one hand whacked over the back of his head. “Gee, what a way to make a woman feel appreciated,” she chuckled. “Don’t get awkward, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just not comfortable asking Raphael to stay with me till I’m asleep again. It’s like, he wakes me up, I calm down and then I throw him out. You know, he has enough on his plate and needs his time off.”

Simon hummed in confirmation, understanding where she was coming from. It wasn’t only her, who followed that procedure like it was an unwritten law, one he didn’t heed because he was willing to greedily take whatever time Raphael offered him.

Jessica chuckled again. “Doesn’t do much. I know he waits outside for a bit before actually leaving. So it’s nice, you know, this.” She lifted the hand he was holding to indicate what she was talking about. When she looked back at him, Simon thought he saw something like embarrassment in her features. “Would you… would you stay with me until I fall asleep again?” It was so quiet, he almost missed it. “Please?”

Simon smiled, before nodding. “Sure, I don’t mind.”

The surprise on her face lingered a moment, before it turned into a lazy smile, that turned into an amused snort. “To think I used to hate you,” she said more to herself. He startled at her words. “Now look at this.”

“Should I be offended?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I was just really jealous of you.”

“Jealous? Of me?”

She nodded. “Because you were so… so shameless. And ignorant. And new. And pure. I honestly thought you had a screw lose or some kind of death wish. Can’t remember the last time I wanted to smack some sense into someone. I thought I had lost that mentality years ago. Then you opened your mouth.”

“You’re not the first, won’t be the last.”

Jessica laughed out loud, a clear and joyful sound. Simon hushed her, wondering if anyone woke up. “You know, Camille didn’t care about our well-being, but she cared about our entertainment. Keep us happy to keep us loyal, give us whatever we wanted no matter how bad it was. She was our Queen. In return we sold our souls. What little there was left of it.”

Jessica fell quiet for a while, like she was deep in thought. Simon let her mind wander. He wasn’t sure where this was supposed to go anyway, so he decided to just wait.

“She didn’t care if someone died. She’d throw us quite literally to the wolves if it saved her own skin. She’d break the Accords and tell us she did it for us. Then she’d sent us to fight her wars and die for her. It was a trade we accepted so she’d continue to fulfill our wildest desires.” Jessica looked up to him with desperation. “Raphael, Lily… they watched it. Watched all of our deepest lows. I was so ashamed, but never stopped. Some part of me was convinced they hated us. For going along with this disgusting debauchery. For following Camille’s lead. Couldn’t even meet their eyes because of the shame. They still looked after us, and they still do, for whatever reason.”

She feel silent again.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, with a frown.

“What?”

“Why they did it?” The look she gave him was quizzical. Simon barked out a laugh. “Seriously? Raphael is like a broken record when it comes to this. It’s worse than Alec with his ‘the law is hard but it’s the law’ bullshit.” She frowned at him. “He calls you family. The whole time he had me looking for Camille he said that his clan, his _family_ was in danger. You don’t always love your family, but you always have their back,don’t you?”

“Did you just imply that they dislike me?”

Simon’s eyes went wide. “What? No, _you_ said that!”

She smirked, and after a long pause: “Always thought that logic is rather flawed. Why protect someone who only hurts you?”

“Pretty sure Lily or Raphael would have abandoned you if they thought you guys weren’t worth it. We all know they could have gone off and built their own clan. Instead they stuck around. Altruism only goes so far.”

“Pretty sure they wouldn’t because Camille would’ve hunted and destroyed them.”

“And you’d have followed that order?” he asked seriously.

“Yeah, of course,” Jessica confirmed, not even thinking about it. “Lots of vamps’d’ve died, but in the end Camille probably would’ve won. Knowing Camille she’d have waited, a year or two, watching them built, then strike. Might have let them live long enough to let them see everything burn, might not even kill them, just a reminder, that she’d do it over and over again every time they’d try.”

Simon swallowed at that, then feigned nonchalance. “Well then, they could have still given zero fucks and just do whatever they wanted,” Simon voiced, more to himself. “Yet they choose to overthrow her and give you all a way out, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.” She looked pensive. “I’m glad they did. It’s calmer now. Didn’t realize how bad all these fucked up things were until they were gone and I settled down. Lots of vamps disagreed, switched back to Camille as soon as she was free, but for what it’s worth, the ones that stayed are glad about the change. Even if we don’t show it enough. Should tell them tomorrow.”

Jessica shock her hand a little and finally getting the drift, Simon let her go. “So Baby, real talk.” She sat up, staring him directly in the eyes. “As much as I appreciate you staying here and helping me, I want you to know, that I will fucking kill you next time you do something that hurts this clan. Because by extension you’re hurting our leaders. You were stupid and unaware of what had been going on, but now you have a better understanding. If there’s something I will not stand for, it’s for any of us ever getting hurt again, by you or anyone else.”

Simon backed away a little, looking at the door as an escape route. “Understood.”

“Good,” she said with a blinding smile, falling back into the casket. “Now be a dear and keep rubbing my wrist. It’s really nice. And tell me a bedtime story. How about that movie you like? Bronze Man?”

“Iron Man,” Simon yell-whispered, feeling incredulously insulted.


	3. Think I Need a Devil to Help Me Get Things Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon picks up music and litter and makes new friends, while maybe turning into a stalker. The jury is still out on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love music, is all I can say to this. Have fun. Thank you for the continued support. :3
> 
> Titel from: Foo Fighters - Learn to Fly

Simon decided to use the music room in hopes someone was going to join him. What was the point of all these amazing and if his knowledge didn’t deceive him extremely expensive instruments if no one used them? Some looked really old. Those were the ones he didn’t even dare to look at in case they’d break. Simon had talents and breaking things was among them.

The dust over every surface told him that the room hadn’t seen many visitors in a long time, so he took it upon himself to clean up first, stored the old musical instruments safely in cupboards he had lifted from unoccupied rooms – after getting permission from Lily first, of course – and checked the other instruments for damages.

Among the common ones like guitars, drums, pianos, violins he knew at least a little about, there were also harps, Japanese drums, a Balalaika, several pan flutes, a kalimba and even weirder instruments he had to look up on his phone like a tongue drum and a didgeridoo. The ocarina he found made him laugh for two minutes straight.

He was disappointed in himself, he had to admit, that it took him months to find his way back to a guitar. However when he did, it was like coming home. The bass he found wasn’t the best around, a simple Yamaha in black and white design, nothing compared to his baby waiting for him at home, but overall in good shape even if it missed a blend control knob.

It didn’t take him long to get lost in playing some of the old songs he used to be obsessed with, strumming the chords of ‘Stand by me’, ‘Feel Good Inc’ and ‘Sultans of Swing’, glad to find out that he hadn’t lost his touch.

He had missed this. Honestly missed this. Losing himself to the sound set him free, pretending he stood there with his band in a dinky bar, playing mostly for drunks. This time around he was alone and playing only for himself, but that made it better. This was reconnecting with who he used to be, with what he used to love, with what had helped him through depression and anxiety and deep-rooted loss.

Music had been his anchor, when even Clary couldn’t help him.

After ‘Sultans of Swing’ Simon picked up one of the acoustic guitars. It looked beautiful in it’s earthly colors and had a warm sound. Throwing the strap over neck and shoulder, angling the fretboard slightly away from his body, he fiddled with the strings, surprised that it didn’t take long to tune it. Simon wasn’t good at tuning a guitar without a clip-on helper so when he was done and played the first chords of ‘Good riddance’ he was a little proud of himself.

With a smile he sang along. Probably not the most thoughtful song to play in a group of vampires, but it reminded him of his school graduation. To be fair, it probably reminded everyone and their mothers either of a graduation, funeral or a wedding.

He could relate to all three of them if he counted his own death.

With a laugh he switched to ‘Mrs. Robinson’, remembering that not-wedding and the kiss Magnus and Alec had shared. It felt like ages ago, when it had only been a few months. Other memories came to mind. How Raphael had looked at him with something akin to panic when Simon wanted to leave in his completely inadequate best trousers and shirt for said wedding, then dragged him into his walk-in closet, throwing jackets and pants at him.

He snorted out another laugh and promptly missed the entry for the refrain. Replaying the part, he got to his feet and twirled around his own axis, followed by some uncoordinated dancing moves that mostly consisted of stepping back and forth, swaying and some shoulder jerks. Simon wasn’t the best dancers, but this was about fun anyway, so he was allowed to spasm around as much as he wanted. The notes didn’t come out completely clean and sharp, transitions lacking in speed and grip. He blamed it on his jumpy movements and stiff fingers from inactivity, while thinking of how beautiful Lydia had looked standing at that altar in her wedding dress. Poor, brave, lovely Lydia who had told Alec to go and find the happiness he deserved. He thought how he had gotten back to the hotel, heading straight for Raphael’s office, talking at him a mile a minute to let him know how amazing the evening had been, Raphael indulging him by listening patiently.

Simon smiled around the last chords, letting the echo linger. After a brief pause, he stroke up ‘Learn to fly’, more concentrated on the lyrics than the chords. It was one of his pick-me-up songs, not that he was in a particular bad mood, more nostalgic if he was being honest with himself. There had been so much shit happening ever since Clary had turned 18 and was dragged into this world. Prominently, he died. And then came back to unlife. Other people died, who didn’t come back. Luke was a werewolf. Jocelyn had been in a coma and then woke up. Simon met new people, who disliked him. He lost people, who used to like him. Unsatisfactory trade-off. Didn’t matter. This was were he was at now. These were the cards life had dealt him and he was going to play them the best he could, even if he had to bluff his way through the game.

By the time he finished the song, he missed the rush of adrenaline, a radical beating heart and the breathlessness usually coming along when he gave it his all. His body was completely silent. Some tiny part in him screamed, regretted picking up the guitar. Ironic as he had just sung his heart out asking for something to feel alive.

There was no time to linger on that thought, though. Turning around when he registered enthusiastic clapping, he realized there was an audience of six vampires. The only one he recognized was Bernice, a wicked grin on her lips. A black-haired girl next to her was showering him with praises, not once stopping in applauding, literally jumping up and down in happy excitement.

Simon froze for a second, then humbly bowed in front of his audience with a big smile.

Simon got used to having a few visitors every other day when he was playing in the music room, requesting certain songs – most of them he had never heard of, but looked up on his phone – but mostly just listening to him play. The black-haired girl, Arya, who was talking almost as much as Simon, was keeping him company a lot. She loved music but couldn’t play a single instrument. Her voice was nice but it was apparent she lacked any vocal training and missed more notes than she hit. She was probably a little tone-deaf.

They still sang along to songs, even if they sounded like a dying cat together, as Derek let them know.

Arya tackled Derek easily to the ground, which was how Simon found out that the tiny girl from India with a fondness of Hello Kitty was one of Lily’s soldiers that could kick anyone’s ass. Simon made a mental note to never piss her off.

Playing his guitar luckily didn’t lead to any complains as long as he kept it to the usual waking hours. However _learning_ new songs, when he was fumbling with the chords, transition and timing, got on a lot of nerves, as Jacob brought up during one of the mandatory meetings.

Simon tried to hide in the cushions of the couch when he was addressed and Raphael turned to look at him with an expression that betrayed absolutely nothing. A few other vampires in the room, whose names Simon didn’t even know but at least recognized the faces of, defended him and offered encouraging smiles at his embarrassment. Another group of vampires whose names Simon _also_ couldn’t remember – he was so bad with names, it wasn’t even funny – apart from one he vaguely recalled as Charles argued against the ‘constant screechy repetitive abuse’.

“How do you expect him to play your songs if he can’t practice?” Time stood still. Hell was freezing over. Pigs were flying. Maybe Raphael was sick. Simon stared wide eyed at the clan leader who had spoken up in his defense, looking as fabulously bored as ever, legs crossed at the ankles and pushed far away from the armchair he was lazing in, cheek in hand, gaze resting on Charles’ group. “Unless you expect him to magically know every song that’s been written in the last half century.” One eyebrow climbed up in challenge. “I’ve seen the list. It’s pretty long. It has Ritchie Valens on it. I’d be surprised if the kid even knew who that was.”

Ouch, Raphael could give him at least some credit there. Simon had played Mafia II, okay? And his mother loved the movie ‘La Bamba’ so of course he knew that guy. The only problem he had with ‘Oh Donna’ was that he’d have preferred to have a guitar clamp. And OMG, Simon tracked back, Raphael knew who Ritchie Valens was. That made so much sense considering the leather jackets and the hair and the subtle mannerism, when he wasn’t all stiff and proper. Simon could definitely picture him straightening the collar of his jacket with that accompanied 1960 shoulder roll, combing his hair like Zac Efron in Hairspray, smoking behind the bleachers, jiving to the Jitterbug and rocking to Grease. Maybe not all of that. Wow, incoming brain freeze.

On another panicky note, Raphael knew about the list. Of course he did. There was probably nothing going on in this hotel that he wasn’t aware of.

The list had been a spur of the moment idea, when the requests became too much for him to keep track of. So he had hefted a paper at the door and told whoever stopped by to add whatever song they wanted. Honestly, he hadn’t expected it becoming that much of a deal. They were just songs. _Everyone_ had a phone. They could simply download and listen to them whenever they wanted.

At the beginning Simon wondered if he was maybe being a tiny bit bullied, until he realized how genuinely happy someone was, when he played a song they asked for. And then he felt bad for assuming the worst.

“That was yours, wasn’t it, Eugene?” Raphael turned his attention to a vampire sitting next to Charles, who had quite vocally objected to the suffering his ears had been forced to endure due to Simon’s incessant practicing. Eugene had the decency to duck his head under Raphael’s completely unimpressed glare.

Here was the fact: it wasn’t like Simon had anything else to do, really, so maybe he _had_ overdone it a tiny bit. The same had happened back at home with his mother and sister when he had first started playing. It was bass. His family could have only hated him more if he had picked up drums. The discussions about how and when Simon was allowed to play had lasted until he had gotten an electric bass with headphones for amps. Not the same but it reduced the quarrels in the household dramatically.

So no, this typ of conversation wasn’t new terrain to him, but now he lived with beings that had super hearing. Talking quietly, using headphones at all hours and keeping noise down during the day was common courtesy.

Simon cleared his throat. It was about time he spoke up for himself. “I think I really have been a little… uh, overzealous. And I’m sorry for that. I know that listening to guitar practice can be trying, I get that. Maybe if I only practice every other day? I’ll leave the hotel on good nights, if that helps. I’d use headphones but we don’t have the equipment here.”

Charles pursed his lips, cocking his head, before he nodded.

The rest of the discussion happened without further involvement from Raphael. The Latino simply threw his head against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling looking like he just wanted to be done with this and get back to his _real_ work.

They came to the understanding that Simon was allowed to practice two times a week, anything more he had to find a spot where he wasn’t annoying anyone.

Simon could live with that.

Mostly because, if he was being honest, the music had been another way for him to hide from his loneliness anyway.

By now Simon had been back to the hotel for a little over three months and something subtly shifted in the mood. It was the end of June, the days were long and the nights as short as the temper of every vampire around. Four hours was the most they could leave, meaning they were stuck for twenty hours in the hotel.

Summer, as Simon learned, was a tiring time, but not because of the heat, which he thankfully didn’t feel. Mostly everyone was on edge, because they were basically sitting ducks. They were _always_ basically sitting ducks but at least they had a larger time window to do whatever they wanted. No wonder some of the vampires had been so peeved with his guitar practice.

Apart from the sour mood, something else had changed.

For one, Simon didn’t think that Raphael was angry with him anymore.

While he still had the feeling Raphael was rather distant, he appeared to be a little calmer in their training sessions. Simon had noticed Raphael watching him from time to time, when he was talking to other clan members, when he was sparring with Derek in the gym, when he was trying to untangle Maria’s hopelessly entangled yarn and making even more of a mess or when he was reading up on Shadowhunter laws and Accords in the library, immersed in the books and his notes, time long forgotten until Raphael appeared next to him with something to drink and a pointed look at the time.

Tiny gestures that shouldn’t affect him as much as they did. Gestures that got his hopes up before they were crushed again the next time they crossed paths and Raphael wouldn’t even spare him a single glance.

It puzzled and encouraged Simon at the same time.

He had always known that as long as no one was looking too hard, Raphael was sort of nice in a really grumpy way. A quirk he now made his mission to look especially hard for. What he saw confused him even more.

First of all, Raphael didn’t treat Simon better or worse than other vampires. He treated him exactly the same. Distant. This was his usual behavior around clan members that weren’t Lily, Jacob or Elliott. Which pretty much meant Simon had been on his way to friendship-level in their relationship before he had fucked it up by letting Camille free and was consequently reduced to just another member of the clan again. That stung really bad. Worse than he thought possible.

But even though Raphael was distant with clan members, he silently sneaked in random acts of kindness. Simon couldn’t count the times he found him restocking Maria’s yarn collection or bought the cinnamon Bernice liked to add to her blood. After finding out how in-demand Simon’s procured ointment was, he made sure it was always stocked. He also had Elliott tell everyone to take better care of themselves because that shit was expensive and even if they healed, carelessness would kill them one day and by the way, candles were fucking banned from now on. The only reason Simon knew it had been on Raphael’s order was the way Elliott continued to pointedly look at the clan leader the whole time he held his little obviously rehearsed speech.

It was always Raphael who woke up to take care of the nightmares, hushing the affected vampire out of their trashing and calming them down until they told him to get lost with humor and affection in their voices.

Even though their relationship was still rather strained, the few times it happened, Raphael never failed to rush to Simon’s side as well, rubbing the pulse point on his wrist, looking mildly miffed, confused, concerned but mostly sleepy. If it weren’t for the fact, that Simon knew Raphael was sort of on unofficial nightmare duty, which Simon once in a while picked up, the autopilot way he handled it probably would have tipped him off.

Though he wanted to, Simon never engaged in more profound conversation concerning their relationship during those times, instead just talked about silly things happening in the hotel; about harmless fights between clan members over lipstick, interior design or book opinions. Raphael barely replied, if at all just with one or two words, but he listened until Simon talked himself back to sleep.

Simon also realized just as quickly that Raphael’s kindness wasn’t stretching far outside the clan, only to a couple individuals to be precise, Downworlders like Magnus. He also realized that Raphael was an asshole and wasn’t above playing petty tricks to get what he wanted if it meant it helped the clan. Simon may also have noticed that he sort of liked asshole Raphael, as long as pompous Shadowhunters or annoying ambassadors of other vampire clans where at the receiving end of his douchebaggery. He was unfairly bad ass and equally amusing at the same time. And as much as Raphael loved helping his clan members, he quite enjoyed being a dick to them.

It was most likely all about posturing and keeping up with appearance but it wasn’t like Simon didn’t knew that Raphael was the proverbial bad boy with a heart of gold rescuing an abandoned kitten in the rain. And honestly, he couldn’t be the only one to see that. Or maybe he was, because as little has they had to do with each other, Simon felt drawn to him like a magnet and followed him around as much as was ethnically acceptable. Subtly of course. With distance. He tried to stop before it got out of hand. Operating word ‘tried’.

It was funny, how Simon was incapable of finding a lost shoe in his own bedroom but zoomed in on Raphael’s location anywhere in the hotel without even trying. Maybe it was a clan leader thing. He asked Lily. It wasn’t.

Simon looked up the definition of stalker after that.

Under Raphael’s order, though, the clan even looked out for other vampires, pressing that it was to keep the peace with Shadowhunters. Clan members picked up strays every other week and brought them back to the hotel. New fledglings who didn’t know anything about the world some asshole vampire had pushed them in, vampires that had lost their clans for whatever reasons or lost or stranded rogues. Raphael never took them in, but the clan always made sure they left sated and with some blood after negotiating with other clans in the vicinity to offer them a place.

The clan was just getting back on its feet after so many had left to follow Camille, they didn’t need further distractions or disturbances in their dynamic, Simon understood that well enough. There were times when he still wondered if there was more behind the refusal to let anyone join than Raphael let on.

To Simon’s utter surprise, they even looked out for Mundanes. _Random_ Mundanes. Like that old guy getting mugged a few streets over, that woman running from the would be rapist in Central Park, the man beaten by the drunken wife, the painfully obvious underaged prostitute selling himself around the corner. The more time he spent at the Dumort, the more he opened his eyes to look around himself.

It was getting ridiculous.

Shadowhunters were always going on about protecting Mundanes from demons and Downworlders but from what he had seen, they were more about waging war against Downworlders under the pretense of protecting Mundanes. It almost looked like the vampires did more to keep the peace in their territory than Shadowhunters did.

So Simon was only _slightly_ blindsided when Bernice asked him for an outing and they were more or less roaming the streets and checking for criminals and picking up litter.

It was their neighborhood, their home, Bernice explained. Nobody was forcing them to do it and they had seen Raphael doing it, whenever Camille had thrown him out of the hotel without any orders and forbade entrance for a while simply to annoy him. They had joined him every now and then, picking up the habit for themselves. Apparently it became a calming distraction when the debauchery Camille had offered started to feel excessive, unbearable and oppressive.

“I really was an asshole,” Simon realized, staring at the group wide-eyed.

The other three vampires looked at him in confusion.

Daniel, a lanky guy looking like he was in his thirties dressed like a hippy, nibbled at his blood infused coke, tilting his head. He was languidly sitting on the backrest of a bench, gazing at the starless sky. “Why?”

He shrugged, helplessly. “Just, the usual. That thing. _The_ thing.”

“ _The thing_ ,” Bernice repeated with a smirk. She was an interesting one, usually roamed the streets of New York, building relationships with rogues, tunnel or bridge vampires to get the latest gossip and infos. And apparently with outsider vampires like Simon. The petite brunette had been one of the few vampires he had initially gotten along with. And then Camille happened. “Let it go, Lewis. Everyone else has.”

“Well, not _everyone_ ,” Arya snorted in amusement from where she was sprawled in the grass, arms stretched away from her body. As Simon had found out, Arya and Bernice were really tight. He wondered if that was the reason Arya had even bothered to come to the music room in the first place but then recalled her loud and enthusiastic tone-deaf singing and pushed that thought away. Definitely not, he thought with a tiny smile.

Daniel scoffed. “That’s hardly his fault. Well not really. Not like he hasn’t tried. We all heard him asking, then begging, fighting, crying—”

“I never cried!” Simon interjected mortified. “Wait, I never begged either.”

“You sure did. Begging I mean,” Bernice laughed, the sound ugly in it’s Schadenfreude. “Lily was faster on her feet than I’d ever seen. For a sec there we all thought Raphael was going to kill you. You were like pushing _aaaall_ the wrong buttons there, buddy.”

Simon hid his hands behind his face, hoping something opened up beneath him and swallowed him whole. “OMG, you heard that.”

Arya cackled, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Everyone, and I mean, _everybody_ heard that. I mean, I actually was a little impressed. I’ve only ever heard Lily yell at Raphael and she sure as hell doesn’t get more than a huff out of him when she does. Well, you two have always been my favorite show to watch. More before the whole _thing_ but you are getting back there.”

“Don’t think so. He was really mad.”

“Yeah well, of course he was.” Daniel sounded irritated. “It was _personal_ for him. Like more personal for him than any of us. Camille was a bitch, but she sure knew how to give us what we wanted, and if she was crossing the lines, most of us just turned a blind eye. As long as you weren’t on her radar, life was more or less bearable and she’d let you be. Raphael was different.”

Simon glanced at him, then back to Arya and Bernice who sat up and huddled close to each other, expressions sullen. It wasn’t a secret how bad things had been between Camille and Raphael, even though he didn’t knew any details. Raphael sure as hell wasn’t talking about that and most of the clan just wanted to leave that life behind. He wasn’t going to poke an open wound just to foster his curiosity therefore he had always settled on the fact that it had been ‘bad’.

“Let me be honest here, I don’t like the guy,” Daniel continued. “He’s an arrogant prick, talks like a douche, acts like a douche. Holier than thou attitude ‘cause he takes that religion bull too seriously. Too much melodrama and acting. Constantly plotting and playing games. But that comes with the job description, I guess.”

“I agree,” Arya chipped in, “but he was the one who installed the security system, after the werewolves attacked. And he was there to help in a crisis. Especially during that cocaine fiasco. He was the one who tried to talk us out of it, and even though we ignored his warnings, he still tended to the worst cases. Remember?”

Daniel glanced at her, slowly nodding. “ ‘course I do, was one of ‘em. Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. Doesn’t mean I have to like him. Just means if push came to shove, I’d pick him over Camille any day.”

Simon blinked at Daniel and Arya in bewilderment. So there actually were vampires in the clan who didn’t like Raphael. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him, but somehow he had assumed that they all loved their new leader.

Huh.

Maybe it was because Raphael acted so distant around everyone.

“Yeah, so, Camille and Raphael, they hated each other, like I mean, _really_ hated each other,” Bernice continued what Daniel had started. “Like seriously it wasn’t even funny, you couldn’t even joke about UST-hating each other. Raphael wasn’t interested and hell, if Camille didn’t hate that, too.” She laughed again. “She always got her way with sex if nothing else worked and he was just all ‘fuck no, never, you’re disgusting’. Didn’t help that he looked like a kid when he showed up around here. Before he went all,” she flailed her hands to imitate straightening a waistcoat, pomading hair and pulled her shoulders back, barring her teeth, “that. Camille always had a thing for the young ones. Was probably the reason he started to dress up, to appear older and get her his back but she was still constantly harassing him. That he hated it made it even better for her.”

“Looking like a kid, barely in the clan for two days and already lecturing us and barking orders, that little sucker. Not the best impression.” Arya looked more fond than actually annoyed. “But he got the job done, so Camille let him be most of the time. And then Maria happened.” She visibly shuddered at that thought. “Sweetest thing, always had been, but should’ve known better than to try and adopt Raphael. She was a mom like that, always had a soft spot for the outcasts. Of course Camille noticed. Wasn’t long till Maria became her favorite plaything.”

Simon watched them in horror. Yeah, no, ‘bad’ had been a real understatement on his part. Then again he wasn’t surprised that Camille was a manipulative monster that tried to destroy everything in her way. The dynamic between Raphael and Camille surprised him still, because when he’d met them the first time, while it was obvious they didn’t really get along it still appeared more like competitors and different opinions clashing than anything else.

This was downright degrading, traumatic and humiliating.

“And then the knight in shining armor appeared, after all the years of cleaning up her messes, random demotions and harassment.” Daniel waved a hand at Simon in indication. “A stupid Mundane–”

“Hey!”

“–with connections to Shadowhunters. The perfect chance to get everyone on his side, ‘cause it was either Camille or the whole clan. Had her right where he wanted. Then he got a little careless. Camille had been right, he didn’t really know how to lead. Made some mistakes, but overall it worked some way or another. But there were still lotta vamps loyal to Camille or some, who simply didn’t like the new course the clan was taking, so everything was on pretty shaky legs. And then you set her free.”

And that was putting it a little into perspective, wasn’t it?

Back then, he hadn’t known any of those things. If he had talked more to other vampires and not hidden at Jade Wolf or the Institute, he might have understood why Raphael had been so adamant against any confrontation with her.

Raphael had been scared. Under all that sneering, posturing and confidence, he had probably just been honestly scared of Camille and the power she still had been wielding even stuck in that forsaken casket.

“So, you know, he doesn’t care about blackmail or betrayal. Dude probably wakes up expecting a knife in his back or someone trying to find weaknesses to exploit. You just really hit the, what’s the phrase, holy grail? Hail Mary? with Camille and undermining his barely there authority.” Daniel finished, gliding from the backrest to sprawl on the bench.

“Didn’t help that it was you who did it,” Arya added with a frown. “You were supposed to be different. Better. We all thought that.”

Simon sputtered at the revelation. “What makes you even think that?”

Bernice groaned into Arya’s shoulder. “‘course he doesn’t know.”

Arya patted the other woman's shoulder with a pitying look aimed at Simon. Simon was lost. When he glanced at Daniel for help, the man just rolled his eyes in exaggeration. “We really have to spell it out for you? You’re fucking Rome, dude.”

“What does that even mean?” he asked in frustration and a hint of fear because it felt like there were expectations placed on his shoulders that he wasn’t prepared to bear.

“The Shadowhunters, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, the leader of a Werewolf pack. Friends with a fucking vamp. With you.”

“What?” Simon squeaked. “Magnus can’t even remember my name! Clary and Luke are the only ones who actually like me!”

“ ‘s enough, you know.”

Simon swallowed.

“Well, doesn’t matter anymore. At least you figured your shit out, so who cares.” Daniel shuck his can into the trash bin. “You’re back in the clan, Derek likes you, so you’re safe. He’d been the only troubling one anyway. Raphael won’t kick you out. He’ll leave you alone as long as you don’t do anything stupid again. You apologized, he didn’t accept. Whatever, just ignore each other. It’s what he does, it’s what we do. There’s no setting in this world were a group of fifty people all like each other. Just deal with it like fucking grown-ups. And find a way to contribute to the clan. You can’t continue to leech, you know?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to make him like you if that’s what you’re worried about,” Arya confirmed with a small smile. “You’re now a member of the clan and that won’t change, no matter what he thinks of you. So just stop worrying about him.”

Simon frowned at their words. He had never thought about making up with Raphael because he was the clan leader. It never had anything to do with the fact that he was worried Raphael was going to kick him out again on a bad day either. “Does it look like that?” Simon finally asked, confused. “Like I’m doing it because he’s the leader?”

Daniel measured him with an unreadable expression. “If not sucking up to him, what else do you want?”

“I just sort of… I just don’t want him to ignore me?”

“Trust me, he’s not ignoring you,” Bernice snorted through a laugh. “He’s doing the complete opposite actually. You’d know, if you’d finally use your senses, for Christ’s sake. Baby, it’s been months. Stop being so mundane!” Bernice threw a pebble at him, which he deflected easily with a smug grin at her pout.

“He’s watching you a lot. Probably waiting for the next knife.” Arya suggested with a chuckle. “You know, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

Simon groaned into his hands. He was doomed. How was he going to make Raphael believe in his sincerity when his attempts at reconciliation appeared to be mere ass kissing and sucking up? Where did he go wrong? He hadn’t tried to start a significant conversation with Raphael since that night in the gym! “Why does it look like I’m sucking up?” he almost whined. “I’ve barely talked to him. How did that happen?”

“I never said that,” Daniel said. “It’s just what I assumed. Can’t understand why anyone would want to spend time with him willingly.”

Simon felt somewhat insulted on Raphael’s behalf, but before he could into an elaborate defense in the other’s name, Bernice clapped her hands together once. “Well, this has been nice. Time to head back.”

Daniel ignored her. “If it’s not favors you want, you telling me you like him?” he asked, honestly curious. “Why? He’s not even the reason you’re back in the clan.”

“Dan, come on, stop it,” Arya said, shifting uncomfortably, which was weird, considering they had been spilling Raphael and Camille’s history to him like it was just another gossip story a few minutes ago.

Simon looked down at his hands, playing with his fingers. “I thought about it myself. I was scared of him at the beginning, but he saved me. Twice.” He winced. Twice _before_ he was turned. Another two _after_ he had been turned. “Four times, actually,” he corrected wistfully. “And then I hated him, mostly because I blamed him for what happened. It’s difficult to explain.”

Daniel lifted both eyebrows. “Try me.”

Simon barely knew Daniel. He knew Bernice and she had always been funny, forgiving and relaxed, a social butterfly, more like Izzy in her confidence and manner. He had gotten familiar with Arya, knew she liked to gossip, liked to laugh, and sing, someone to steal horses with, always along for whatever bullshit ride without having to ask twice. He didn’t know much about Daniel apart from the fact that he apparently really disliked Raphael and was good friends with the two woman.

Sighing, he let his eyes roam Central Park, avoiding eye contact. “He understood. He wasn’t particularly nice about it, but he understood and tried to help, even when I was fighting him every step of the way. I probably tested his patience on purpose, like a three year old trying to find the boundaries. The worst he did was tell me to take a walk.” Simon smiled at the distant memory. “While I didn’t do it back then, now I appreciate that he didn’t try to sugarcoat things. And he listened to me, actually listened to what I had to say.” At that, Simon caught Daniel’s eyes. “Not many people think it’s worth their time. So I gave him a chance and he wasn’t as bad as I thought. The opposite, actually. Blunt, arrogant, bit of an ass, playfully dramatic, yes, but also sarcastic, funny and smart.” He laughed. “And sometimes adorably clueless. So no, I’m not sucking up to him. I mean it. I want us to get along. I’m apparently just really bad at showing it.”

Daniel hummed, but otherwise remained silent for a while until he said: “Well then, good luck.”

“Thank you?”

“Maybe it helped a little,” Daniel said and then left without further explanation.

Simon just stared at his retreating silhouette, question directed at the other two. “What’s he talking about?”

Bernice and Arya shared a look, before shrugging. “Time to go home,” Bernice eventually offered and one glance at the sky affirmed her words. It was really late. He was still confused by the time they arrived at the hotel, but his companions weren’t very forthcoming with further revelations, so he let it go.

* * *

Songs mentioned:

[Stand by me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwZNL7QVJjE) by Ben E. King

[Feel Good Inc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HyHNuVaZJ-k) by Gorillaz (the bass in this one is pure love. [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDZ6umenrOQ)'s a bass arrangement)

[Sultans of Swing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Pa9x9fZBtY) by Dire Straits (10 min of epic... eh... ness)

[Good Riddance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bTdLi0YUVM) (Time of your life) by Green Day

[Mrs. Robinson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JVPdb6Urhw) by Simon and Garfunkel

[Learn to fly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VQ_3sBZEm0) by Foo Fighters

[Oh, Donna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNUr6pLxGtE) by Ritchie Valens (Probably more known by Los Lobos, I think.)


	4. Everyday Is a Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family meets family. Raphael has nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your ongoing support, particularly SonofHelios who takes their time to leave a comment every time!
> 
> Title: Young Rising Sons - High

‘Mom, I made friends, tell me how proud you are and come meet them,’ Simon texted to Clary after about four months back to the hotel. Which was frankly sooner than he had expected.

Simon was still a little stunned, that Arya and Bernice really liked him, as in ‘spending time and actively seeking him out for rare outings’-liking. Bernice even introduced some of her bridge vamps friends to him. Though they usually hung out in the hotel, dragged him away from his books about the Shadow World or from his guitar to kick his ass at Mario Kart or taking turns in playing Aiden in ‘Beyond: Two Souls’, making Jodie’s life that little bit harder or imitating scary sounds while he tried to beat the Silent Hill Collection, quietly dying a second time from the inside. Playing horror games sort of lost some appeal after missing a working heart but the vibrations in the controller helped to regain some sense of that jump-scary feeling.

Simon was proud that he only had to tell himself that he was a mighty vampire and not some chicken shit that had to crawl under the couch to feel save only once or twice during the first game. Bernice and Arya took far too much pleasure in making him suffer through the whole ordeal.

Sometimes they roped Derek into playing Borderlands. The other three fighting over who was going to play Siren, while Simon was happily picking Mordecai without having to resort to rock paper scissors. It didn’t really matter what character Derek played in the end, because he was shit at the game and then complained how unrealistic the fight simulation was. Simon never laughed harder playing that insane game and it was _Borderlands_.

Simon even grew fond of Daniel, who apparently didn’t dislike, too. Yay. They usually talked about accounting or Mundane politics, which surprised Simon at first. There really weren’t many vampires around who closely followed Mundane world news, checked up on market development and elections in other countries. Tedious as stock market talk tended to be, Simon still found himself listening attentively, learning something new every now and then, even if he was never going to put it to any good use.

Bernice usually badgered Daniel into playing cardboard games and cards with them, which quickly became one of Simon’s favorite activities because games meant _war_. Arya and Bernice took them brutally serious, competitive side showing up as soon as they rolled the dice. Frankly, Simon should be scared and make a run for the hills. He almost saw smoke coming out of Bernice’s nostrils when she was about to lose at Ludo, but he had too much fun taking her tokens out to care.

He might be suicidal.

Arya on the other hand was a dirty cheat and lightning fast in switching cards or pushing her token strategically one step forward. Bernice let her cheat without batting an eyelash so Daniel and Simon formed an unspoken alliance to take them out. That one usually broke as soon as Daniel saw an opportunity to take the lead and leave Simon in the dust to fend for himself. Asshole.

Apropos, whoever claimed Monopoly destroyed friendships, had never played Halli Galli with ambitious vampires. Monopoly was _civil_ compared to Halli Galli and the former lead to overthrown tables courtesy of _Daniel_. The later though, lead to injuries. Broken bones, usually fingers, and open gashing wounds from very long and sharp nails. 70% of the time Simon was too scared to go for the bell in fear Arya was going to shred his hand or break his arm, which was what she wanted, he was aware of that little bit of information, thank you very much, but that didn’t mean his desire to win outweighed his wish to stay unharmed.

Simon was equally horrified and excited to find out what Twister was going to be like, but he decided to tackle ‘World of Darkness’ with them first. Malkavian for the win.

Sadly, none of them were into musical instruments. Derek used to play drums but wasn’t interested in playing anymore. Simon learned how amazing he was, after he persuaded him to play once. He regretted asking. Wasting that level of talent was just painful.

Then again, Derek wasn’t interested in much as it was. He liked partying, brawling and sex, in that order, and was mostly indifferent to everything else. Most of his time he spent in the gym and when he was bored he literally dragged Simon with him to work on Simon’s atrocious foot work and stamina. Simon didn’t mind much, because Derek was fun to be around even though his humor was almost too crude. It was a trade he accepted for learning some nice fighting moves and blushing wasn’t a thing for vampires anyway so it was easy to mask his embarrassment at the jokes.

It was far from that wordless understanding Simon had with Clary, but that had been building over many years with hardships he’d rather not repeat. This companionship was still more than he used to have with other humans in the past, if he was honest with himself. It was easy and made him inexplicably happy, something warm and content tugging at his stomach.

Clary’s reply half an hour later consisted of a row of happy emojis, a thumbs up and the question ‘when’.

Simon mulled it over, before answering with ‘I’ll check with dad.’ Which earned him an unexpected call at 3 in the morning.

‘You call Raphael _dad_?’ Clary’s voice shrieked through the phone, adorably sleepy and at the same time hilariously hysterical.

Simon laughed loudly down the line for several seconds. “What? Pssh no! _Lily_ is my dad. Raphael is more like a mom. Or whatever you call someone, who broodily looks out for everyone’s well-being while pretending not to. Is that more like a weird aunt? Reluctant live-in nurse? Big sister, maybe? Fuck, he’s Alec. Clary, he is _just_ like Alec. Stickler to the rules, always sort of grumpy, looks out for others, both drama, like just in different ways. And they are fluent in eyebrow.”

This time it was Clary’s slightly muffled laughter that filled the line. ‘Honestly, Simon, this is so weird,’ she started. ‘Every time I think of Raphael I picture this arrogant bastard, and then you come out with stories like how he, what was it? Caught a mouse because one of the vamps was screaming bloody murder when they saw it?’

“You never heard that story from me. Derek hates it when I bring it up. Can kill you with a single look, but one pesky rodent brings him to his knees. Unbelievable.”

What he didn’t tell Clary was how Raphael, after he had caught the mouse in one swift movement and gotten over his initial confusion about the whole situation, took quite some pleasure from tormenting Derek.

He had done some James Bond villain imitation by gently petting the head of the poor mouse with a thumb as he walked up to Derek, reprimanding him for not noticing the presence of the animal until he stopped in front of him and set the mouse free on his shoulder. Derek dashed out of the room with vampire speed, colorfully swearing in three different languages. Raphael easily caught the mouse midair with a chuckle before letting it gently down on the floor. As far as Simon knew, it still lived happily in the hotel. It wouldn’t even surprise him if Raphael had trained it to come out whenever Derek was getting a little too obnoxious.

‘Derek’s one of the friends?’

“Yeah, I think so? Hope so?”

‘Okay, can’t wait. Let me know when. Now let me get back to sleep.’

“Sure, night Clary.”

‘Bye, Si.’

After they hung up, Simon sent an identical text to Luke, not really expecting an answer least of all an affirmative one. When he got a 'okay' an hour later he stared at it for a couple minutes in disbelief. Either Luke was drunk or the stars were aligning because he actually agreed. Well, that was going to be fun.

All that was left was to ask dad for permission. Lily wasn’t in the hotel though, so he paced up and down in front of Raphael’s office, muttering to himself. He wasn’t really surprised when Raphael eventually opened the door, glaring at him.

“Spit it out.”

Simon swallowed. “I know I’m not supposed to talk to you, Jacob made it clear–”

“That was months ago,” Raphael interrupted, turning at the door to walk back into the office which Simon interpreted as an invitation. He followed into the room before closing the door. “If you need to talk to me concerning clan business, you are more than welcome.” Anything else was out the window, message received loud and clear, he thought bitterly. Nothing he was going to fight, not now at least. That was for another day.

“Soooo, I wanted to invite Clary. And Luke,” he started, literally biting his tongue to swallow the waterfall of words that usually left his mouth in unpleasant situations. The last thing he needed was being all irritating after pushing that admittedly massive request. They had history. They had history _in this hotel_. And it wasn't good history.

The look of surprise on Raphael’s face was gone in the blink of an eye. “You’re asking permission?”

“Uh, yes?”

“How come?”

Simon was confused. “Because… they are Clary and Luke? Remember last time? Insults and dog jokes were traded.” _You were an insufferable disagreeable brat_ , he didn’t say. “Seriously don’t want a repeat of that.”

Raphael stared at him for a long time. Long enough for Simon to feel self-conscious, shifting on the spot and glancing around the room until the only safe place to look at were his feet. “Just say ‘no’ if you don’t want them here,” he finally interrupted the silence. “We can meet at Taki’s or whatever.” When he looked up after what felt like hours, Raphael was staring to the side, muscles working in his clenched jaw.

Simon wondered how many seconds Raphael was away from killing him.

“Fine,” he finally pressed out. “You let the clan know they are coming. Lily will make sure the other vamps behave. Day after tomorrow, if they can make it.” He looked back to Simon, unreadable expression on his face.

“Really? Yes!” He punched the air in success, almost bolted forward to hug Raphael but stopped the last second. While they had become somewhat touchy with each other the first time Simon had been around, he had swiftly realize that Raphael seriously did not appreciate him invading his personal bubble anymore. At all.

‘Rome wasn’t built in one day. But certainly burnt down in a few nights,’ he thought bitterly.

“Thank you. We’ll be on our best behavior, I swear,” he said instead.

“I doubt that,” Raphael scoffed and for a second Simon pretended to hear that almost fond exasperation they used to banter with.

If anyone asked, they were on their best behavior. For their standards. Considering the circumstances.

After letting the clan know, someone was going to come by – meaning he yelled it from the lobby about ten minutes before they arrived for every vampire in the vicinity to hear – Lily showed up at the top of the stair, glaring at him pensively. Raphael must have briefed her and she did not look happy about whatever was going on. Understandable. They really didn’t have the best track record after all.

Simon greeted Clary and Luke outside, hugging them for what felt like hours. He had really missed them.

“So, this will be a little awkward at first, but we’ll be fine?” Simon started with a crooked smile and faux bravado. This was world’s clashing. This wasn’t just some Shadowhunter barging in with all the authority of someone protected by laws no matter how wrong they were. This was Luke, a werewolf surrounded by vampires. Simon knew what that felt like, from every time he had slept in the boathouse or wanted to talk to Luke. It wasn’t pleasant. He just hoped his friends were going to treat Luke better than he had been treated by most of the werewolves. Then again, vampires were more likely to use insults, compared to werewolves who preferred violence.

Wasn’t even a stereotype but his experience talking.

“I’m sure we will, Simon,” Clary tried to assure.

“Can’t believe Raphael actually agreed to this,” Luke muttered under his breath, as they took the stairs to the hotel. When they entered, the lobby was full with vampires. There was some hissing. One of these days Simon was going to figure out what that was all about. They weren’t cats, for fucks sake.

Lily hushed them, spine straightening, making her appear taller than she was. She approached with measured steps. It was strange. Simon literally felt like he was introducing friends to his parents. It wasn’t even the first time they saw Clary in the Dumort. It wasn’t even the first time _Luke_ had been inside. But the last time had been with an entourage of three Shadowhunters so that was that.

“Disperse,” Lily snapped. Some mumbling and muttering followed her command but it was heeled. After they were left alone, Lily turned back to them. “Clary, Luke, nice to meet you, I’m Lily. Simon’s _dad_.”

Simon actually choked on a laugh at the last words and the wink she threw him, a tiny smirk stealing its way on her lips.

Luke held his hand out, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Lily. I’m Simon’s other dad.”

Simon preened at that.

There was a beat of uncertainty before Lily reached out to take the offered hand, shaking it. Then Luke’s eyes flashed as he turned his gaze towards the top of the stairs. Simon followed his eyes and wasn’t surprised to find Raphael standing there and watching them. Luke greeted him with a curt nod which Raphael returned wordlessly before disappearing in a flash.

“I’m apparently Simon’s mom, so I get to pick and I chose Lily as my husband,” Clary threw into the awkward silence. “Sorry about that Luke.”

Simon wanted to hug her for that.

So he did.

“Now go off to your play date with the other kiddies. I hear them fretting and it’s annoying,” Lily said before getting out of sight. There was no doubt she was going to stay close. Wouldn’t do the vampire clan any good if the leader of a werewolf pack got hurt under their supervision.

Luke and Clary were putty in Maria’s hands, Simon noticed happily. Maria actually had one of her good days, which worked in her favor. Clary was gone the second Maria pulled out a hand–knitted Panda hat with ears and matching mittens and presented them to her with a string of compliments about Clary’s pretty hair, complexion and lovely face. Simon nodded to every word, while Clary blushed madly. Maria charmed Luke with a scarf, embroidered with wolves at the end. Some sort of joke about werewolves always running hot that Simon didn’t get but made Luke smile.

Arya and Bernice were easygoing enough to throw some friendly banter in. It was obvious Luke didn’t know how to handle the teasing at the beginning, until he snapped back a biting retort that left Bernice laughing with an attached ‘Touché’ at the end. And then they started to trade embarrassing stories about Simon. It had probably been a mistake to have them meet, he decided, trying to hide in the cushions.

It went awry when Derek entered the common room. He threw one look at Clary and absolutely lost his shit. Arya and Bernice immediately jumped up and moved to protect Luke and Clary, but Lily was fast at his throat and dragged him off. Confused, Simon stared after them and then Bernice was in his face, hissing. “He didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?”

“That _she_ was coming?”

“I told him friends were visiting.” He found Arya with his eyes but she just looked sad and disappointed. “What’s going on?”

Bernice took a step back. “His brother died when they busted you out back then.”

“Oh shit.”

“He never told you?”

Simon shook his head again.

“‘course he didn’t.”

Clary and Luke looked at each other, deeply uncomfortable with the exchange. He hung his head, unsure how to proceed. “Should I talk to him?”

“Let Lily handle it. You wouldn’t stand a chance against him anyway. Still a baby, right?” Bernice tried humor to deflect. Arya jumped right in to pick it up and Simon couldn’t remember how they diverted the tension in such a short time, but Clary relaxed again, made some jokes and then they were back to join forces in telling humiliating stories about Simon Lewis, walking disaster. He should be mad, but he was just glad they got along.

An hour later Daniel strolled into the common room, throwing a beer can at Luke and a soda at Clary, setting a bag of take out down on the table.

“Simon probably forgot,” Daniel explained after a short introduction. Simon was offended until he realized that he had indeed forgotten that nothing in their kitchen was anything to be served to non-vampires. Well… apparently he was domesticated.

Clary and Luke ate, Simon helped Maria slurp her blood and Daniel decided to get Arya drunk, while other vampires made brief appearances, joining the conversations or drinking, but mostly just observing. It was all rather friendly. Until Derek walked in again, Lily a few feet behind him. The tension climbed up in an instance. He was hesitating at the door, before walking along the couch Simon was on, fondly ruffled his hair and then blatantly glared at Clary, who squirmed under his gaze. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m Derek.”

“No problem,” Clary said. Simon noticed she was itching for a weapon, her hands pressed to her legs. “I’m Clary.”

“Figured. You don’t look like a Luke.”

With that, Derek sat down next to Simon, one hand gripping the edge of the couch hard.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I thought you knew who Clary was.”

“Well, now I know,” was all Derek replied.

Derek didn’t talk to Clary apart from the greeting, but he didn’t leave the room either or antagonized her. He was mostly engaged with Luke in discussions about weapons and fighting techniques. For a second Simon already saw them sparring in the gym. Bernice and Daniel involved Clary in a discussion about art. Until Arya started to dance on the table and started to strip, to Maria’s utter delight. Out of the corner of his eyes, Simon spotted Raphael and Lily quietly talking to each other. When he caught Raphael’s eyes, the other didn’t turn away, he just looked at him evenly. Simon was the first to cut the contact, just in time to see Arya miss the edge of the table in her strutting. He easily caught her in both arms. She giggled, pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, whooped once and then passed out.

Bernice took her off his arms, arranged her limbs comfortably on the couch with Arya’s head in her lap and resumed the art supply shop discussion with Clary, while combing the other girl’s hair with her fingers.

It was nice.

No grand gestures, no promises, nothing that resolved hundreds of years of hate and distrust, but it was something. A tiny spark that even if you didn’t trust werewolves or Shadowhunters or vampires in general, if you needed help, you might at least be able to turn to Luke Garroway or Clary Fairchild.

He didn’t mean for it to happen. Simon just realized that there were times when Raphael was late to react to the nightmares. Simon was awake anyway and another part thought it was unfair that Raphael was the only one to handle this problem. And if, by Simon taking care of a few other vampires, Raphael got a little time off, it should be fine, he had assumed. Raphael never approached him regarding this matter, so Simon wasn’t sure if what he did was welcomed or not. So when Raphael suddenly appeared at his door, Simon was more than just a little confused.

Simon had been woken by Theo’s screams, but tried to go back to sleep as soon as he realized Raphael was already on it. A few minutes later, someone knocked on his door and at Simon’s ‘yes’, Raphael poked his head inside. “Theo’s asking for you,” he informed and left without further explanation.

Bewildered, Simon marched into the room of one of the oldest vampire in the hotel. The gray-haired man hugged his sheets close, toothy grin as he smiled up at Simon when he leaned over him. Theo was a cutie, accidentally turned in his sixties by a vampire who had been hunting for food in the local retirement centers some twenty years back. While he was the oldest in human age, he was barely a toddler in vampire years. He was calm, and friendly, but a product of his time in his latent racism, sexism and bigotry that Simon spent hours working on correcting.

At least Theo made it easy, seeing the errors of his way even if he needed some positive enforcement every now and then.

With a fond sigh, Simon dropped down on the bed next to him, and started to talk about Spider-Man until the man fell asleep.

Simon sort of knew why they were asking for him; why Raphael stopped reacting to the screams and let Simon handle it after one too many requests to get Simon instead. They were like Jessica, not comfortable taking up their clan leader's time. Simon wasn’t sure how Raphael felt about getting replaced in such a harsh manner, by _Simon_ nonetheless, whether he understood their reasoning, whether he was happy or hurt over the development.

He wasn’t given an opportunity to ask, so he got used to slowly taking over nightmare duty.

The only times Raphael still went to do it without fail, was when it concerned Derek. As everyone had been trying but spectacularly failing to imprint on Simon how very dangerous Derek was, he was bound to learn his lesson the hard way.

Honestly, Simon had scoffed at the other vampires numerous times, when they advised him to be careful. His opinion changed the first time he tried to wrangle Derek out of his nightmare and thought with a distanced absentmindedness ‘That’s it, that’s how I’m going to die’.

Then Raphael appeared by his side. In the blink of an eye, he pushed Simon harshly out of the way with enough force to fling him half across the room, just as Derek was about to tear his teeth into Simon’s throat. A second later Raphael climbed full body onto the trashing vampire to keep him forcefully anchored and _punched_ him awake.

Yeah, Simon let Raphael handle the wake-up call for Derek after that.

The care thereafter was Simon’s job, though.

At times Simon wondered who was handling Raphael’s nightmares. From what he was told, Raphael didn’t have them. What Simon found out on his own was that Raphael had nightmares. He just didn’t scream like the rest.

It was an almost silent gasp that woke Simon one day. Ridiculous, considering that he didn’t even hear other vampires talking a few rooms down unless he actually zoomed in on that. But there he was, reacting to a gasp that might as well have been someone jerking off somewhere in the hotel. When he heard it again, he realized where it came from and what it wasn't.

He finally gave in, swung his legs over the bed and padded up to Raphael’s room.

Simon took a couple unnecessary breaths, because even though he didn’t need to breathe anymore, breathing techniques were still amazing for his nerves. Before he opened the door he sent several prayers to whatever deity randomly popped into his head, then hurried to Raphael’s side, hands hovering over the other’s body. Not sure if touching was at all okay, he finally settled on his usual nightmare routine. Raphael snapped out of his dream as soon as Simon moved to pat his shoulder. A second later strong fingers were wrapped around his throat and pulled him flat on the bed with a heavy body pressing his own down into the mattress.

“It’s me,” he squeaked through the tight grip. “Simon.” Which, as he reflected, might as well have been the reason why Raphael reacted that aggressively in the first place.

It took the other vampire a moment to focus and stop his low threatening hissing, shaking his head until realization dawned on him. Quickly, he removed his hands from throat and shoulder and sat back, resting his weight on Simon’s upper thighs, looking adorably bewildered. “What are you doing here?”

“You had a nightmare. I think. Which is honestly surprising because everyone in this hotel believes that you’re the luckiest bastard around for not having them. Like at all. It’s like how they think you were born looking like you do now, only tinier, growl, eyebrow and all. Lot’s of stories going around about you here. Don’t worry, harmless stuff.”

Raphael hummed noncommittally in response, raising one hand to brush strayed strands of hair out of his face. Raphael when sleepy was calm, soft and warm. His features weren’t schooled into that hard mask or fake smirk he constantly kept up, his hair a mess of curls, dressed in wrinkled pajamas instead of ironed shirts. Simon felt a tug at the vulnerability he witnessed in that moment.

Raphael looked like he was close to falling asleep again, shifted slightly in his position on Simon’s leg as his eyes closed for the fracture of a second and he swayed an inch forward. The next second, his posture abruptly stiffened, eyes flying open again, now clear and wide. Whatever he was suddenly hissing in Spanish, Simon more or less got the gist of it when Raphael jumped out off the bed and pulled him along to stand next to him.

Well, awkward.

“Sorry for waking you?” Simon finally offered, not sure what to do.

“No, it’s fine. Thank you.” Raphael’s voice sounded as if he meant the complete opposite.

Simon still decided to show some courtesy. “Want me to… stay?”

Raphael glanced at him, slowly shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary. Good night.”

Simon nodded, more to himself, then let himself out of the room, feeling vaguely disappointed.


	5. Break My Stride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon gets his second chance. Raphael knows technology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little short but I thought the break would be good there.

When Simon entered the lobby, he found three vampires arguing in hushed voices, one of them agitatedly flailing with his hands to the left, right, everywhere.

“What are you doing?”

The three turned around, one of them just scoffing when he saw him, the other two mostly just looking. Simon didn’t know them all that much. They weren’t really his scene if he was honest. Appearance wise they were more like Raphael, always sharply dressed, elegant expensive taste in clothing, sipping blood like it was decade-old wine, with the flair of people born from old money. Contrary to Raphael, they were stuck-up and didn’t converse with plebs like him. They also didn’t like Simon much and that had been b.C.. And seriously, he should stop thinking in terms of before Camille and after Camille.

“We have order to renovate,” one of them finally replied. He thought it was Julliard or something. Julian maybe.

Simon let his eyes drop to the old golden furniture, the walls reminding him of European dungeons, large pictures in golden frames. It was representing everything that Camille was. He wasn’t surprised they were finally removing whatever reminded them of her. The only thing that surprised him was how long it had taken. Then again, there had probably been more pressing matters.

“Good riddance,” he muttered under his breath, really not fond of his own memories of that hag and happy to get rid of any lasting reminder. Also, her taste had really just been tacky and gaudy. “So what’s the problem?”

They looked at each other in surprise, before they finally turned to face him properly. “Well,” Eric, Frederick, something like that, started slowly, more reproachful than Simon would have preferred but he couldn’t even remember their names so he wasn’t all that offended. “The general idea is to give every floor a different theme, so everyone’s preferences can be matched a little. Themed common rooms and color schemes, stuff like that.”

Huh, Simon hadn’t thought that these guys were actually willing to negotiate taste to accommodate other vampires. He’d assumed they’d just do their thing and be done with it. In fact, he had expected Raphael to decide and they would have to get it done no matter what. Raphael had his leniencies, aesthetics wasn’t one of them.

“The lobby is the first room outsiders see. We want it to reflect the overall clan feeling.”

“And with that, he means Raphael,” Julian, he’d just go with Julian, interrupted with a smirk.

“I do not,” Frederick said. “I just want him to like it.”

Well, at least Simon wasn’t the only one vying for Raphael's approval. “Sounds like a plan. What’s the hold up then?”

“We need to order the furniture by today, but we haven’t decided on a design yet and it’s impossible to get a hold of Raphael to ask for opinions,” the third finally spoke up. Simon couldn’t even remember a single syllable related to his name. Was it impolite to ask for it after five months back to the clan?

“He’s in his office right now,” Simon said. If he concentrated enough he could actually hear him talking to someone, even though he couldn’t make any words out.

“We can’t just barge in there,” Julian said with an eye roll.

“Of course you can. I do it all the time.”

Which was the truth and in hindsight spectacularly rude.

It had become a habit he had picked up over the last few weeks after he had stumbled upon two indecisive vampires in the common room fretting over how to approach Raphael to talk about problems with the plumbing. It wasn’t necessary an emergency, which was why they wavered over their decision but it could potentially turn into one if left alone for too long. Simon didn’t understand why they were hesitating instead of walking into Raphael’s office but he simply offered to do it for them, considering how upset they appeared.

He had figured back then that if Raphael really didn’t want him going in, he’d hear him from a mile away and just lock the door. As soon as Simon entered the office, he almost felt irritation wafting off the clan leader in heavy waves. Even Simon registered with a sinking feeling in his stomach that Raphael had been in an exceptionally bad mood that day, which might have had something to do with whatever the clan had been doing for the Clave the night before. Simon wasn’t privy to these kinds of information anymore and he didn’t ask. The mood probably also being the reason for the other vampires refusal to go anywhere near the office. Would have been nice if they had _warned_ him, but, well he was already there and it wasn’t like their relationship could get _worse_.

Raphael didn’t kill him that day. And he thankfully continued to not-kill him all the other times Simon helped out by taking requests and questions to Raphael, when the other vampires were too afraid to approach. In truth, Simon scoffed a little at their dramatic reaction. No matter how busy or how pissed off Raphael was, as long as nobody bothered him with completely inane crap – “No, I’m not disturbing him to ask for a fucking Jacuzzi. Address that shit in the mandatory meetings or do it yourself, Eugene.” – he would always make some time. In the few cases that he had indeed been too preoccupied with something else, he’d just wave Simon off and ask him to come back later. It happened, but not all that often and even then it wasn’t anything to get his panties in a twist.

Simon didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but it gave him something else to do, so he shrugged it off and turned himself into canon fodder, whenever there was a bad message needing delivery. Luckily, Raphael wasn’t someone to shoot the messenger even if it was Simon.

Blinking out of his musings, Simon noticed the other three vampires glowering at him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they were thinking. Sighing dramatically he held out his hand. “Let me do it. Shouldn’t take that long.”

The other three exchanged looks. Frederick pursed his lips before giving in. “Here are two designs. Just let us know what he thinks.”

“You couldn’t have stopped him for that? Shouldn’t take more than two seconds.”

“Not everyone is as shameless as you,” Julian snapped.

“Or ill-mannered,” Frederick added.

“Or annoying.”

“Wow, okay, I get it, you love me. Geez.” Simon accepted the portfolios they handed him, quickly going through the sketches and pictures so he was able to provide Raphael a brief summary in case he was in a hurry.

The first one was elegant but simple, modern, warm brown tones with some white and red accents. It was homey and comfortable with large couches, beanbags and fluffy-looking arm chairs. Considering they spent the mandatory bi-monthly meetings in the lobby, it was quite appealing, Simon mused. Though he had to bite back a smirk thinking of Raphael sinking into one of these cozy monstrosities.

The second one was obviously to impress. Brighter colors, more silver and some gold, lots of white and marble, honey-colored limestone in a sort of seating platform, Baccarat crystal chandeliers and velvet settees. Sharp angles and hard edges. Nothing he wanted to spent hours listening to other vampires complaining about broken waterlines in, but definitely amazing to look at.

Simon used super speed to quickly dart up the steps, then slowed down as soon as he reached the corridor leading to Raphael’s office, giving enough forewarning for someone to throw the door in his face if he was busy. When Simon entered the office, Lily was already expectantly watching the entrance, a private smile playing on her lips. It threw him off for a brief second.

“Hey, you two. Sorry to disturb, quick question so they can put their order in, and then I’m gone.” He opened the folders on the desk in front of Raphael, after making sure there weren’t any important documents he could mess up. “Which design do you like more?”

Simon wasn’t sure how high this matter ranked on Raphael’s importance scale but he didn’t seem about to murder him, which either meant they hadn’t talked about anything really important or this was on a higher priority. Whatever it was, for the most part Raphael looked slightly bemused but pensive as he let his eyes dart back and forth, really assessing before giving his opinion.

“Why do you keep doing this? It’s not your job,” Raphael finally replied.

Not what he had been expecting but something he could work with. Simon shrugged. “I don’t have a job right now. So I’m helping where I can. Make myself useful, you know?”

Lily snickered and Raphael tilted his head a little. “So, what’s that for?”

“For the lobby. Julian—”

“Julliard,” Lily corrected.

“Dammit, I knew it! Anyway Julliard said something about first impressions and knowing what type of leader you are, or was that Frederick? Never mind. They actually said clan, but let’s face it, they were talking about you. So it basically comes down to: do you want people to like you or do you want to impress them? Pretty sure you want to impress, but to be fair, you have the intimidation and impressing down to a T. After all you have done it with the hotel looking like… _this_.” His hands flailed to point at everything. “And I’m sure we can all agree that Camille’s taste is absolutely hideous. I know vampires aren’t that different from Mundanes, bragging with their wealth by, I don’t know, owning as many vintage cars as possible or using lots of glass. Though glass would be a bad idea, really. Guess that’s where all the marble comes in. Which I’m fine with but the first one to mention ivory will be personally staked by me.

But seriously, all that gold is just too much. It looks _desperate_ , like you pretend to have money when in fact you are knee deep in debt. Wait, is the clan actually broke? Should I get a job? Maybe we can sell the antiques in the warehouse to the black market instead of museums? Pretty sure private businessmen are willing to pay lots for stuff from, who was it? Leonidas the first? Even without proper certificates. Which now that I think about it must have been a big fat lie, Raphael. Vampires didn’t even exist until the middle of the 15th century. I did my homework, I’m onto your lies.

Anyway, how much money do we need to keep the hotel running for a month? Maybe I can go over the facility and property bills. It’s not like we really _need_ all that light. I’m sure there’s other stuff we can reduce. Energy is probably still the worst, what with all the cooling for the blood. Why would you even think about renovating when we can’t even afford to pay electricity bills? Which reminds me, left design is all family feels, I really like that concept. And right is more like you, I guess: expensive, close to over the stop, bit snobbish, yet sort of tasteful with a hint of danger. Still appealing, though.”

“Tasteful with a hint of danger but appealing?” Raphael repeated with a drawl, amusement easily detectable in his voice.

Before Simon could react in his usual charmingly caught off stutter, Lily saved him with a low whistle. “Jesus, Baby, I didn’t stop you because I wanted to see how long you can go, but damn. How did you do that as a Mundane?”

“Uhm… I’m a singer? Well, I’m actually a bassist but I had to sing too. I know when to sneak breaths in. It helps that I don’t need to breathe anymore, though,” he replied off-handily, his mind back to mulling over ideas to reduce costs.

She shook her head, a smirk catching her lips.

“Can you leave us for a bit, Lily?”

Simon snapped immediately to attention, posture straightening. This probably meant he had done something horribly wrong or overstepped some boundaries. What had he been saying anyway? He couldn’t remember half of his rant. It took all his willpower not to throw himself at Lily, begging her to stay, because Raphael was going to burn off some of his body parts or something. She left with a chuckle and closed the door behind her.

Alright then.

Raphael pushed his chair back as he stood up, walked around the desk and stopped next to Simon. “You don’t have a job?”

Well that was left field, he thought, reply delayed by a few seconds. “Uh… not yet,” he started slowly, carefully. “Daniel told me to find a way to contribute. Apparently adorable musical mascot doesn’t count. Other than that I just have accounting, so I’m still trying to figure out what we need. I mean, I did a lot of cleaning in the meantime, because everybody here seems to hate cleaning. Is anyone even using the doormats? So much dirt getting dragged in all the time. And I think I know more tricks about how to get dried blood out off cushions and carpets than I probably should.”

Raphael eyed him before turning his gaze to the portfolio he was slowly spreading out on his desk. “Last time I checked you were First Advisor To The Interim Chapter President Of The New York Clan, not the cleaning help.”

Simon grimaced. “We really have to do something about that title. Can’t even make a proper acro–” He stopped. Raphael was deliberately not looking at him as he gave a small absentminded hum in reply, pushing pictures of furniture with his finger around. “Wait. What is happening?”

“What do _you_ think I should pick?” Raphael continued as if Simon had never spoken, really laying the intonation thick on the personal pronoun.

Simon’s first thought was that this was a test. Or a job interview. It wasn’t supposed to be either. It was supposed to be a quick and dirty ‘Here take a look, say a or b and you can go back to your important work’.

Why did this turn into a job interview?

“I’d go with modern comfy,” he replied cautious, pointing at the left folder. “In case we get new members, we don’t want to rub it in their faces how much of a snob their new leader can be.” Raphael scoffed. “Same goes for other vampire clans. Might be a nice change or even throw them off, which can be a good thing. It’s also a good way to show you are not Camille. Mostly, though, I just think about all the hours we spent arguing in there. A comfortable surrounding might be more productive to loosen every one up and make them contribute. Less a business kind of feeling.”

Raphael straightened to fully look at him, then picked up the design Simon had suggested and held it out. “Do it,” he said. “And don’t bother me about this again. From now on if something like this comes up, just go with whatever you want. Frederick has immaculate taste, so it’s unlikely to turn into a disaster. I’ll let him know that you’re in charge.”

“Hey now, I’ll have you—” Simon stuttered to a halt again, confused with what was going on. When he squinted suspiciously at Raphael, the other had his eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown, posture and muscles tense, arms usually at his side to portrait confidence were crossed in front of his chest in defense or authority and instead of meeting Simon’s eyes, he looked at a spot somewhere over Simon’s shoulder.

The first time Simon had been offered this job had been out of spite. In the following days, Simon had realized that it involuntarily brought them closer together, though. To Raphael’s mortification, Simon had spent a lot of time pestering him with off-key singing and rambles about theme songs from the nineties simply to annoy him.

This time Raphael knew what he was getting into assigning Simon that job. It definitely meant they were going to spent time together and if it was anything like before, it would be a lot. However, Raphael had made it perfectly clear, that he didn’t want Simon around.

“Why?” Simon asked quietly.

The reply didn’t come immediately but Simon was staring at his feet and didn’t dare to lift his eyes.

“You’ve only been around for a few months, but you made considerable progress with the clan. The other vamps are willing to rely on you and talk to you. They might be testing your trust right now, but that’s good. Reinstating you as my advisor might proof sufficient in the long run, assuming your loyalty resides with the clan this time,” Raphael replied with a lazy shrug. “You study Shadowhunter law and Downworlder History and take the Accords seriously. Honestly, there are only two people in this hotel, who’ve ever bothered to learn those, but it’s what I need, for obvious reasons. You’re willing to contribute to the clan and you stopped talking and showed intentions by actions.”

Raphael fell silent for a moment, mouth morphing into a smirk when Simon finally dared to look up and meet his eyes. “On the other hand, it’s been months and your choice of wardrobe is steadily killing my will to live. Your fashion sense is just as offensive as Camille’s decoration skills and I’m tired of looking at your absurdly large collection of graphic shirts. Maybe being advisor again will finally remedy that.”

Simon gasped at the insult, then laughed and then made a strange sound that was a mixture of a whine and snarl. He was a mess. For a long time after that undignified noise he simply looked at Raphael, but the other vampire just cocked his head slightly to the side, the tease on his lips gone.

“Raphael,” he started, his voice a tad too soft even to his own ears.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Raphael interrupted, expression hardening. “I don’t trust you, Lewis. This is a trial run.”

Simon swallowed around a knot in his throat, taking a tentative step forward. “I understand. Maybe it helps if we... talk about what happened?”

Raphael immediately shot him a glare. “I’m offering you a second chance at your job. Nothing more. Take it or leave it.”

Simon suppressed a growl at the reply, anger flaring up. He was so done feeling like a waste of space, like he had to walk around on egg-shells whenever he was close to Raphael. He was so done cowering and bowing and asking for something he obviously wasn’t going to get. In retrospect, he probably should have stopped asking after the first month.

However Raphael had given him a chance, so Simon was going to take it, even if the doubtful implication had been less than stellar. It was still a chance, so he was going to push against that invisible wall between them and he was going to forcefully tear it down if he had to.

Straightening his back, squaring his jaw and lifting his chin in a silent challenge, he snatched the folder out of Raphael’s hands, looking him straight in the eyes. “I take it. I’m done feeling guilty,” he said, hoping the tremble in his voice didn’t betray his nerves.

Raphael’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Good. Guilt isn’t helping with the job anyway.”

Simon pressed his lips together, nodded and finally turned around to leave.

Being Raphael’s advisor wasn’t much different from the first time. He was mostly a glorified secretary, keeping up with Raphael’s appointments. And he was still the messenger for other vampires who didn’t want to annoy their clan leader with uncomfortable problems. Simon never one to shy away from bothering Raphael took it upon himself to address these matters whenever he found an opening to slip them in.

He also sat in during the boring Shadowhunters meetings that usually took place _during the day_. Always too late to stay awake and too early to get up early. It was straight up 1 PM. Assholes. It was just an unnecessary slap in their faces, but nothing new there. He made a mental note to bug the hell out of Clary, who’d bug Jace who’d bug Alec to get the time pushed back to a more reasonable hour. Midday was just such a dick move, really. Simon was 80% sure this was the reason Raphael even brought him along at all. It wasn’t like he actually needed Simon to be there. Well joke was on him, though, Simon saw more of Clary than he had in the prior months and riling Jace up had always been one of his favorite past times, so that made the lack of sleep neglectable.

With his knowledge of accounting he took that work off Raphael’s shoulders as well. He wasn’t surprised to see how accurate Raphael’s bookkeeping was. He easily adopted the system and continued it the same way. While accounting hadn’t been his passion, it never bothered him that much. Working in silence was better than working with other living beings.

The clan obviously wasn’t broke. It wasn’t excessively rich either, at least not in terms of banking. As soon as he had found the inventory list, he was surprised about all the things they owned, antiquities not included. That was a different list altogether. When he asked whose job it was to keep track of the inventory, Raphael’s reply had been a smug grin in his direction and that was apparently that.

Simon should really get rid of his habit of questioning things. As it turned out, Raphael was always quick to give tedious jobs on a ‘whoever asks’ kind of basis. Well it wasn’t like he was unhappy with that. He couldn’t wait to get his grabby hands all over the precious relics stored in the warehouses.

The hotel worked somewhat like a small country. Everyone with a job gave up a percentage of their income, which was used to cover the bills and for the procuring of whatever they needed, mostly blood. Job’s weren’t as difficult to come by as they used to, thanks to technology. Only a few vampires bothered with working night jobs as bartenders or night guards. A lot of money came from the stock market, which _Daniel_ played like a maestro. That had been a weird discovery. Others had online jobs related to proof reading, translation, transcriptions, market research, data input and so on. At least that explained why the wifi was insane and why everyone in the hotel had a laptop or computer.

Simon contemplated putting an order in for himself.

He might have had a heart attack when Raphael mentioned in an insultingly off-handed way to order a high-end computer, considering that Simon was probably going to use it for personal use, meaning games, as well. First of all, Simon never used to have the money for high-end anything, least of all _technology_. He used to play Mass Effect 2 with potato graphics that made it impossible to hack the vaults. It was so bad Witcher 3 wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities and he was still mourning that fact. Secondly, Raphael talking about technology? Weird.

Simon sputtered over his words, but Raphael ignored him and just continued his casual musing over a set-up that was easy to upgrade, motherboards with expendable RAM and such and such, suggesting a combination of SSD and HDD and then discussed in monologue over the pros and cons of using NVDIA vs AMD.

Like, what?

It was ridiculous. Raphael didn’t even _use_ computers. He had a notebook tugged away in one of his drawers that was still running on Windows XP and Word 2000 and he only got out to check mails. Simon more or less had claimed it as his own for his accounting and inventory work by now and Raphael really didn't seem to care that much if at all.

Raphael was all about handwriting lists and documents. Raphael was so old fashioned in his paperwork Simon made jokes about wax seals and name printed letters. Raphael insisted on writing in _cursive_.

So finding out that he knew his stuff about computers, it honestly shouldn’t make Simon’s stomach twist. What the fuck. Also Raphael deciding during Simon’s internal freak out that they were just ordering parts and going to build it because it was cheaper – Raphael fucking Santiago with a 14-carat gold casket a cheapskate, honestly! – and then after everything had arrived _actually_ sitting down with him to assemble it was downright absurd.

“Honestly, it’s like Lego bricks,” Raphael sighed for the nth time. “You can’t do anything wrong.” He lifted the Corsair RAM up to show it to Simon, who undeniably had never bothered to look inside a computer as long as it was running. And if it didn’t there had always been some else taking care of the problems. “The upper clip is longer than the lower, couldn’t even do it wrong if you wanted.”

“I’m sure _I_ could.”

“Agreed.”

Simon gave him a stink-eye that went completely unnoticed. So he shook his head in denial and spoke up again. “I still don’t get it. How can you know so much about computers, but know shit about gaming? What is wrong with you?”

Raphael didn’t even look at him. “I’ve more or less lived through the development. It’s a useful skill to have, especially if you have to rely on technology. Jacob knows more about this, though. You should talk to him about his extensive pepper network.”

“Do you mean onion?”

Raphael scrunched his nose. “Maybe that. I don’t have the time for it, but it might be a good idea to have someone else with Jacob’s particular set of skills. So if you are interested.”

Simon bobbed his head back and forth, contemplating. “Not really, I’m more the gaming and movie type when it comes to computers. But I think I have someone else in mind.”

“Who?”

“Jessica.”

“Why her?”

“She’s bored and keeps complaining. Recently lost her job and is looking for something new anyway. This IT Admin-Slash-Procuring specialist thing might be something for her. She’s interested in the field anyway and keeps up to date with developments. I’ve just never seen her touch anything other than her phone, to be honest. Oh, but she also drives quite the bargain, so that might be a pro for procuring. You should see her during one of these night bazaars. She _always_ gets her way. Extroverted personality, with lots of contacts inside and outside of the US. She’s trustworthy, appears harmless enough not to scare buyers and sellers away, but doesn’t take shit from anyone. Fiercely loyal to the clan. And she may or may not have a crush on Jacob, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Raphael hummed in reply, playing with a wrench before he turned to look at Simon. “Sounds good. Ask her.”

Simon looked at Raphael for a long moment.

He had been back to his advisor job for a few weeks by now. The first couple days consisting of stilted conversation and awkward silence, as Simon really didn’t know how to deal with Raphael anymore and then decided to throw caution to the wind, because he had told Raphael that he was done with his selfpity-party, and therefore started to act around him like he used to. With lots of talking, quips, pop culture references, banter and bickering.

It felt like a replay of his first time around. Raphael hadn’t reacted at the beginning, but as time went by, returned in kind, with sarcasm and pointed comments. Two weeks later, he started to ask for Simon’s opinion on different matters. Simon was never going to get over the fact that Raphael actually listened to _his_ _opinions_.

Part of his brain told him that he was probably telling him things he had already known or contemplated himself at one point or another, but he let Simon finish explaining his ideas and occasionally challenged them.

Simon was clawing at Raphael’s wall with blunt fingers, but he was getting there, at a crawling pace, but point in case: Raphael was assembling a computer for him.

Which still shocked him and was probably why it had taken him so long to react to what Raphael had said before. He almost choked on his indignation. “What do you mean you have been around from the start? As if that had ever been a reason for you to know anything! You have been alive when Star Trek and Star Wars first aired and you still can’t tell them apart!”

“Because it’s not important. Stop being so hung up about this.”

“Not important!” He threw his hands in the air in outrage. “It’s the same as me saying that the Boston Clan and Washington Clan are the same.”

“They are nothing alike.”

“Exactly!”

“Yeah, but confusing two clans leads to certain war and casualties. Doing the same with your shows earns me little more than one of your rants.” He thoughtfully balanced the screw driver on his fingers with a frown. “Which puts me in danger of dying of boredom but nothing more.”

“You’re cold, Raphael Santiago.”

Raphael smirked. “Vampire.”

Simon shoved him.

He was absolutely getting there.


	6. The Boys Are Back in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings and Simon finds out the clan likes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. The next chapter should be longer.  
> Thanks for your support. <3  
> Jesus, posting this chapter was hell. Server problems?

“So, have you encountered any harassment?” Maia asked from were she was seated on a blanket, beer can in one hand, a piece of pizza in the other, looking around the admittedly to Mundane eyes normal group. However, to the Shadow World, this was most likely the beginning of a joke.

Simon had tried to make the meetings a regular thing. Just not in the hotel anymore because that had been _such_ a bad idea. Simon had been an idiot, letting Clary walk in, knowing what had happened in the past. It only sunk in after he had seen Derek’s reaction to her and realized that he wasn’t the only vampire in the hotel who had lost someone to the Shadowhunters, not in general but on that day the Lightwoods stormed the building like terminator, mowing everyone down who was getting in the way. Vampires who were following orders, yes, but also _protecting their home_.

Simon had been a blind idiot.

He hadn’t even thought about it because Clary had walked into the hotel all the time before, so it didn’t occur to him that something might be wrong with that. Until he remembered Raphael saying that Clary wasn’t exactly welcomed after they had killed several vampires. Until he remembered Raphael leading them into that cage, protection for and _from_ the clan. Until he remembered Raphael telling Clary specifically to stop barging in. Back then he had thought that Raphael had just been an asshole again. Now he wondered what would have happened if Derek had seen her.

So instead they switched things up, went to Taki’s, met in parks or any other neutral ground, simply to chill and talk and get to know each other. Over time their little group even grew.

Alaric still didn’t look that impressed to be around Shadowhunters and vampires, but Simon had a feeling he was warming up to them. Maia, while not exactly thrilled with Jace at the beginning, made herself comfortable as soon as introductions had finished.

Simon liked her. They shared the same interests, she was fun and the only one who bested him during a citation war. Most of all, he loved how annoyed the others got from their nerd talk. Apart from those two, there were sometimes other werewolves in the meeting. Luke said he forced them along, so they met at least every pack member once, to get them to know who was who in case of emergencies, faces they could hopefully rely on helping if anything went wrong. They changed with every meeting, but that was fine. Relationships can’t be forced, but Simon liked when one of the unwilling participants started to enjoy themselves despite the company and sometimes even came back. He was also pretty sure that Jace had exchanged numbers with one or two of the werewolf guys.

There weren’t many surprises on the Shadowhunter site, to be honest. Jace, Izzy and Clary, every once in a while Alec, though he tried to stay away. Simon didn’t hold his absence against him, because he disliked social interactions in general and he had a lot going on. What little spare time he had, he wanted to spent with Magnus. It was understandable, really. Izzy was her normal social butterfly self, enticing men and women alike with her carefree and friendly attitude. It was still painfully obvious to everyone, that Izzy and Jace rather preferred the company of the werewolves. Simon didn’t know how he felt about that, but he also noticed that both were opening up more and more to the vampires, so it was progress?

The variation on the vampire side was spread wide. Arya, Bernice and Daniel were a constant presence for these meetings and Simon was glad they supported this attempt at exchange. However he was surprised to see even more vampires join every once in a while. Most were just curious or protective, other’s simply enjoyed a good time outside the hotel.

Charles, the sucker every now and then grumbling over Simon’s guitar, had obviously a crush on Alaric, which was amusing to watch to everyone but Alaric. Simon didn’t know if Charles tried to hide his infatuation and utterly failed, whether he didn’t care if everyone knew or got a kick out of watching the werewolf squirm every time he so much as glanced his way. Which was often. Luke thought it was hilarious. Simon silently agreed, but tried not to show it.

To Alaric’s relief, Charles wasn’t there today and therefore he was less inclined to grumble and growl at everything.

“Not on our side,” Bernice replied to Maia’s question. “Not from the clan anyway,” she amended with a frown, shrugging. “I mean, we have these posh guys around, but they think they are better than everyone because they, I don’t know, have been turned during insert random historical event. They’re snobbish, but they don’t give us shit.”

Maia nodded in understanding, munching on her pizza.

“Outside vamps, that’s another thing. I get some chatter from my contacts. You know, stuff like traitors, lap dogs, the usual. I hear that about you as well,” she said, pointing at the group of werewolves. “You should be careful. We’re a large clan, nobody will attack us, they are too sacred of Raphael and Lily. But you guys are easy prey for other packs, no offense. Just talking about size.”

“That’s why I was asking,” Maia sighed. “Feels like a storm is brewing.”

“That’s why we shouldn’t fraternize with vampires,” Alaric complained, more worry than heat behind his words.

“Bro, chill,” Daniel chirped up. “I don’t think someone’s stupid enough to attack you. And if they are, they better do it during the day, because you can be sure I’ll kick their furry asses at night.”

“Doesn’t make us very reliable help, does it?” Arya said with rueful compassion. “Even if we wanted to help, we wouldn’t be able to.”

“Has always been like that,” Daniel agreed. “Vamps are a force to be reckon with, even a small group. As long as the sun is down.”

“Revenge it will be then,” Bernice decided. “If they get ya, I’ll hound them down like a feral dog and put them to final rest. This is a promise.”

Simon smiled to himself at her words, then glanced over to Jace, Izzy and Clary, who appeared uncomfortable with the turn of conversation.

“Night Children are bound by promises and vows, aren’t they?” Luke spoke up for the first time, eyeing Bernice with surprise.

“Very honorable creatures we are,” Arya laughed. “Worse than a pinky promise. She’ll avenge every death of your clan till the end of time now.” A beat later she lost the humor in her voice, thinly veiled threat leaking out with the next words. “Don’t make her regret it.”

“You’re cute, when you’re protective,” Bernice said, pinching Arya’s cheek playfully.

“How is it on your side?” Simon asked, looking at the Shadowhunters. Clary looked confused but it was gone in the blink of an eye and she smiled. “Anyone giving you a hard time?”

Izzy chuckled. “Constantly. But what’s new? They have other things to worry about.”

Simon opened his mouth to reply, when a portal appeared down the gravel path, swirls flickering in familiar lilac and purple swills. A moment later Magnus stepped through it, cloaked in an air of indignation and irritation. Alec appeared shortly behind him, shrugging in reply to questioning expressions meeting him.

“My darlings, I feel slighted. Insulted, even. Why have I not been invited to this charming get together? It’s always Magnus can you help us with that, Magnus can you help us with this, Magnus you’re throwing a party, get me an invite,” at this he leveled a pointed glare at Izzy, who smirked in reply. “Good enough for favors but not for mingling, I take it?”

They collectively stared at him in confusion, then back to Alec who heaved a deep sigh in exasperation and shrugged again.

“To be honest,” Simon began, “we didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Because he was _Magnus Bane_ , the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Commonly found throwing expensive, extravagant parties for any random occasion. The birthday celebration for his _cat_ had been more elaborate than anything Simon had seen on My Super Sweet Sixteen. Magnus didn’t mingle with common Downworlders in Central Park on a blanket, sipping cheap beer and munching on snacks. At least that’s what he had assumed.

“I’m clearly interested,” Magnus snapped.

“Then you’re welcome to join us,” Luke said with a smile, motioning to sit anywhere on the blanket. “Help yourself to whatever. It’s not much, though.”

Magnus’ furious expression immediately brightened as he gracefully plopped down. Alec approached the group, but instead of sitting down, stopped behind Magnus and kept standing, hands in his pockets.

“Now then lovelies,” Magnus started, reaching for one of the chilled cans in the cooler without looking, “what are we talking about? Girls? Boys? Fashion?”

“Potential attacks on Luke’s pack,” Bernice replied.

Magnus frowned. “That doesn’t sound like happy talk.” He threw his head back to look up to Alec. “You said it was a friendly gathering spent talking about trivial nonsense.”

Alec rolled his eyes, huffing a breath. “It usually was when I was here.”

“Hey, there’s nothing trivial about Fenty,” Arya complained, earning herself an agreeing whoop from Izzy. Simon still remembered the horror that conversation had been, with both women talking about some kind of fashion line for hours, looking up clothes with their phones and squealing over dresses with pockets. It had been the weirdest and cutest bonding moment Simon had ever witnessed. And he had seen Jace and some werewolf dude building rapport in a bout of testosterone filled, painfully manly arm wrestling. The way they had stared into each others eyes, neither giving an inch, had almost been intimate in its intensity. Simon had felt like a creepy voyeur just looking at them.

“It just came up in passing,” Maia offered. “We can go back to the topic before that. What was it?” She snipped her fingers in contemplation.

“Asian stocks climbing, pound losses, modest share gains in Europe. Jenia Share rose 600 Index points on Thursday,” one of the werewolves Luke had forced to come along supplied helpfully, blushing and all shy as she spoke. Simon regretted that he didn’t bother to remember her name.

Daniel whistled appreciatively, then stood up to sit next to her.

“Yeah no, I can’t remember us talking about that,” Jace frowned.

“That’s because you stop listening when it’s not about weapons,” Clary huffed, slapping him against the shoulder.

“Alexander, Darling, I think you have vastly oversold these meetings.”

“All I said was, that they meet up for gossip. Exactly using these words. Nothing else.”

“I haven’t heard gossip yet.”

Bernice lit up in an instant. “Oh, let me brief you on the latest Night Children drama.”

Magnus eagerly leaned in and Izzy, never one to ignore juicy stories, joined as well, as Bernice started to talk in detail about vampires Simon had never heard of, spinning tales that, if he hadn’t know better, he would have assumed came straight out of Game of Thrones. He caught Maia’s eyes, sharing a long suffering look before she stood up to join Clary, Jace and him, all looking equally pained by Bernice’s story. Luke and Alaric, however, were following her every word just as entertained as Magnus and Izzy.

The four decided to ignore the rest and talk about classier topics: horror movies. Every once in a while, Simon would look over to Daniel, talking to the shy werewolf girl with his whole body; to Arya who sat with her eyes closed, a content smile on her lips as she listened to the voices around her; Alec, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else right now, but still followed Magnus’ every reaction and movement with a fond smile; and then to the group of gossipers.

He imagined Raphael among this group, scowling at the inane chatter, not even trying to hide his displeasure at being forcefully dragged there, because honestly, Raphael would never join this out of free will.

Simon chuckled to himself at the thought.

  


When the group eventually split, Simon was left alone with Izzy and Clary, collecting whatever trash they might have left around. Arya and Bernice were cuddling under the stars somewhere further away, waiting for him to head home together. Daniel had left an hour earlier, werewolf girl in tow.

“So,” Clary started in a tone that made Simon straighten his back, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes. “Maia is nice,” she finally continued casually.

At that, Simon relaxed abruptly. “Oh yeah, she’s great. Even though she’s on the wrong side in Civil War.”

“She’s also totally into you,” Izzy offered offhandedly.

Simon froze at that. “Oh.”

Clary turned around to look at him. “Oh?”

He shrugged. “I’m not really interested?”

“You’re not?” Izzy asked surprised. “I thought you totally hit it of.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, isn’t it?” Simon said, confused by his own feelings, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s totally cool and cute but it’s like,” he waved his hand, trying to find the words. “Like there’s no place for that right now, for her. Besides totally awesome friend I hopefully can watch all the Marvels movies with. I wasn’t even thinking about romance in forever.”

Izzy tilted her head, assessing him for a few seconds. When Simon looked over to Clary, she was worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“It’s not that strange, is it?” Bernice stated, suddenly walking up with Arya. “You have a lot going on right now. Training with Raphael. Your advisor job keeps you on your toes. Then the nightmare shift. Being our personal musician. All that nonsense studying of Shadow World Law and whatever else. Did I forget something?” She asked, ticking everything up on her fingers, as Simon rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“It’s not nonsense. It’s important.”

Izzy and Clary looked at him as if he had grown a second head. It wasn’t _that_ much, though he had to admit that clan life did take a lot of his time. That bit of free time he had he used for catching up with his favorite series, comics or friends. It didn’t feel like work though. It felt like, well, busy family life mostly.

“You forgot Derek’s special training,” Arya added.

“That reminds me,” Clary said, “Why’s he never here?”

Simon opened and closed his mouth several times, until he was finally saved by Bernice. “He’s still in mourning.”

“Oh,” was all Clary said for a while, before she opened her mouth again. “I feel like I should apologize, but I think it’d just make things worse. I mean, what do you say to someone whose brother you probably killed?”

They all looked at her, unable to answer.

“Is that why you’re always looking so uncomfortable?” Simon asked, question clearly directed at Izzy and Clary.

“I never realized before,” Izzy started. “I mean, I’ve grown up in this world, I always thought I was different because I was out there, partying with Seelies and other Downworlders. I thought I was open minded, and treated everyone equal. Then I turn around and—” She swallowed, looking at Arya and Bernice. “Well, we all know what I did. What we did. Still do. Meeting you confuses me. I never had much to do with vamps before.”

Bernice grinned. “We’re a rather tight knitted group, aren’t we?”

“Simon, I never apologized to you.” Izzy suddenly started.

“For what?” he asked in confusion.

“When we got Camille out—” An involuntary groan escaped Arya and Bernice simultaneously and Izzy stopped, looking strangely at them.

“Sorry, it’s just, this topic has been beaten to death. Believe me when I tell you, hearing the name Camille now installs a completely different kind of dread than it did before,” Arya said, her body shuddering as if cold.

“We were hoping we never had to hear about this _ever_ again, since Raphael and Simon finally sorted their shit our,” Bernice agreed, pointedly glaring at Simon. He waved her off, ignoring the unvoiced accusation for not sharing what had transpired between them to make that happen. Not like he could. Because nothing had happened. Simon had gotten his job back. That was all. It appeared Raphael planed to just completely sweep the whole thing under the rug and at the moment, Simon wasn’t entirely against that.

He liked how they had finally settled back into their old pattern. As long as it was still this unstable thing, Simon wasn’t willing to breach that topic again. Maybe when they were more secure in their friendship. 

“Just let me say this,” Izzy sounded insecure, not a trait Simon ever attributed to her. “I could have hurt you with that reckless entrance. Not just you. Any of the vamps in the room. Might have even killed someone. I mean, I didn’t intend to hurt anyone, but it could have easily happened. It was stupid. I was stupid. I made a huge mistake and got lucky, that no one died. So sorry. I’m sorry.”

Simon blinked slowly. “Apology accepted?”

She huffed a laugh. “You’re an idiot.” Then glanced at the other two vampires. “We’ve always been harder on the Night Children. I realized that. I’ll try to do better.”

“That’s all we can ask,” Arya replied with a smile.

Before the situation couldn’t get awkward, Bernice tugged at his elbow. “Come on, Simon. It’s time to head home or mom won’t stop nagging us until sundown.”

He looked at his watch, startled at the time. “Sorry guys, you must be crazy tired. It’s almost three,” he said, looking up to Izzy and Clary.

“It’s fine, I stay up longer when I party, don’t worry,” Izzy brushed him off. Very likely the truth.

“Good night then,” he said, before he was forcefully dragged away by Arya and Bernice, barely catching Izzy’s and Clary’s farewells.

  


The name of the shy werewolf girl was Tamara. She was 26, had a little sister and a big brother and a cat, that hated her. She was a friend of Maia’s and had wanted to join their meeting after Maia had told her that there was a weird vampire who wouldn’t stop talking stock market as soon as someone got him started on that topic. She had majored in business and taken extensive courses covering share analysis and statistics. While she was dabbling in minor shares, she never dared to go big as she couldn’t afford to lose money with the current job she had.

Simon learned all of this about ten minutes back to the hotel.

From _Raphael_.

“Come again?” Simon asked, his voice surprisingly calm considering how confused he was.

“He wants to ‘woo’ her.”

Simon shook his head. Nope. This conversation still wasn’t making any sense. Raphael using the word ‘woo’ even if he was directly quoting Daniel wasn’t helping the situation either.

“Why did he tell you? Did I miss something? Do we have to ask you for permission before we start a relationship with anyone? OMG, is this like droit du seigneur?”

“Why do you even know what that is?” Raphael asked, expression as horrified as Simon’s.

“The question is, why do you?”

“No, the question is, why is Daniel telling me that he is going to pursue this girl and threatening me to leave the clan, therefore losing one of our most lucrative sources of income – his argument, not mine – when I’m against it? All of that in one sentence?”

“I think he’s asking mom for permission?” Simon replied, not even hiding the amusement anymore.

“He doesn’t even like me.”

“Of course he…,” Simon stopped, decided to drop the act because no, Daniel really didn’t like Raphael. He respected Raphael as a clan leader and for doing the jobs he himself would never in his life dream to poke with a ten-foot stick, but that was as far as his love extended. Good thing Raphael honestly didn’t care about being liked or disliked. According to him, a leader wasn’t supposed to be amiable in the first place. They had to get the job done and that sometimes meant making the difficult and unpopular decisions.

“I think maybe because your reputation with werewolves isn’t the best?”

Raphael huffed in annoyance.

“But it’s cute, isn’t it?”

“It’s stupid, that’s what it is.”

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again, frowning in displeasure.

“I don’t care whether he’s dating a werewolf,” Raphael elaborated at his expression. “He could date an aardvark for all I care.”

Simon bobbed his head back and forth in thought. “Well, he _does_ respect you, though. Every time he makes big with his shares he’s all ‘that will show that Santiago bastard’.” Raphael raised his eyebrows in amusement at Simon’s bad imitation of the other vampire. “So just, I don’t know, show him you’re supportive?”

“Want me to buy him a puppy?”

Simon was tempted to stick his tongue out, but he had more class than that. “I don’t know, is dating a werewolf a big deal here?”

“Considering they are our natural enemies,” Raphael said, last two words accentuated with annoyance, “It’s not all that common. But I honestly couldn’t tell whether it has ever happened in our clan. I don’t keep taps on relationships, believe it or not.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure _someone_ here does. Probably Bernice.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“So,” Simon let the silence stretch, before he grinned. “Are you going to be a good mother and support your son’s love life?”

“This clan is becoming ridiculous.”

“What can I say, we take after our parents.”

Raphael stared at him, clicked his tongue in disgust and simply walked out of Simon’s bedroom.

  


The next day, Simon found Daniel in the kitchen, asking around about a stuffed wolf toy, that suddenly appeared in his casket. Simon had the decency to hide his face behind hands while his whole body shook with peals of laughter.

He wasn’t sure if he was rubbing off on Raphael or if the other always had this playful side hidden away somewhere. Whatever it was, he loved it.

  


Vampires were very patient creatures. Well, most of them were. Yet, Simon sort of had the super power to test that patience. While he had the ability to rub the other vampires the wrong way, surprisingly, it was never with _how much_ he talked.

Simon wasn’t used to people listening to him ramble about his favorite things. Clary was the only one who let him finish without interrupting unless she had been pressured for time or got hopelessly lost in his monologue. All the other people he knew, his sister, acquaintances, they would get annoyed and stop him. On several occasions they just started to walk away while he was still talking.

So it was startling for Simon to learn that the other vampires didn’t interrupt him. At all. None of them. They’d stand there, looking at him with a frown in bewilderment, some even with an indulgent or genuine smile or vague interest.

Bizarre.

Simon had to admit, at the beginning he had been suspicious. He blamed it on the better mood in the hotel as it was the middle of September and the nights got increasingly longer. Because otherwise there wasn’t a reason for anyone, and he meant _anyone_ willingly listening to him going on about The Wire and why Omar Little had been his favorite character, and how much he had respected Stringer while he simultaneously hated that fucker to hell and back. But there he was, talking to Victoria, a tiny 238 year old vampire of Polish descent, who had started to rest her body against the wall for support during his rant, thoughtfully twirling her long black hair between her fingers.

“So that Stringer guy is ambitious, smart, furthering his education because he wants out of that life and he’s willing to ruthlessly protect what he’s build?” she summarized and that, in itself shocked Simon more than the simple fact that she hadn’t turned around and left him talking to a wall. She hadn’t just stood there letting him talk at her, she had _payed attention_. “Sounds like my kind of man. So why’d you hate him?”

And _that_ was taking the cake. She actually _asked_ questions back.

Simon was out of his element. He was so stunned he only offered a quick and definitely not very in-depth reply before faking someone looking for him and running away.

The next time it happened had been with Julliard, a guy who definitely, 100% didn’t like him. At all. He knew, because Julliard had told him. Several times. The vampires in the clan were very blunt concerning relationships with each others. Something about knowing were they stood and who to better avoid, because, as Daniel had put it so nicely, in a group of over fifty vampires, you were never going to get everyone liking every one. Hell, Simon hadn’t even managed that in his old study group and they had been five people.

So the next time he noticed, that he had been talking for the better part of a quarter hour without getting interrupted unless for follow up questions had been with Julliard. The French vampire didn’t look pleased or interested at all, and Simon stopped to wonder why he would go out of his way to humor him anyway. Maybe because he was Raphael’s advisor? Did his position in the clan sort of force them to? Was he abusing his power without realizing? Did he even _have_ power? He was little more than a secretary after all.

“You know you don’t have to listen to me?” Simon said tentatively, unsure how they had even started a conversation to begin with. Most likely Julliard had insulted him and Simon had insulted him back and then stopped to explain his insult because Julliard usually didn’t appreciate his genius.

The French vampire swirled the Bloody Mary in his hand. “Of course I don’t. But I have nothing else to do right now. So go on, you said Alistair couldn’t possibly be straight because he was making jokes about licking icy lampposts. Isn’t he simply confident in his sexuality? By the way, the choice to either have sex or break up is a dick move. That’s rape, you know. I hope you broke up with him.”

Simon gaped at him, while Julliard nipped on his drink, throwing him an expectant look. Raphael across the room covered his mouth with one hand, to hide his obvious amusement probably, when Simon caught his eyes asking for help and maybe a straight jacket.

“Of course my Brosca broke up with him,” he returned to the conversation when he realized Raphael wasn’t helping at all. “And then I went into the Deep Roads to kill some Darkspawn and relieve my frustration.” After that he continued in his monologue about why Dragon Age: Origin was one of the greatest games ever invented and why Loghain and Zevran were blatantly underrated.

The next time wasn’t entirely his fault. Maeve just had a question concerning accounting and Simon himself didn’t know until this point that he was apparently able to go on a tangent about hedge accounting. Well, he proved himself wrong. Maeve nodded every once in a while, notepad in hand and jotting down some words.

It was getting eerie.

Especially when he somehow steered into the difference of accrual and cash accounting and she still looked interested. At some point he stopped in his explanations and just looked at her.

“Everything okay, Baby?” she asked, almost concerned.

“Be honest, I can take it,” he started. “Why is no one stopping me?”

Maeve looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“My rants, rambling, long ass explanations, monologues, you know, _this_.”

“I asked you a question?”

“I’ve answered your question ten minutes ago!”

“But you were still talking, so I assumed there was more.”

Which was a fair point.

Simon apologized for his outburst and took his leave.

It continued to happen, other vampires paying attention to what he said, sometimes even getting back to him when he had already assumed that they’d just forget what he had said.

“I started to watch The Wire,” Victoria let him know one day, out of the blue.

“I found out that Dragon Age has books,” Julliard said several days later. “So I bought them.”

“Remember that indie band you talked about?” “That movie you were raving about is getting a sequel.” “I read the book you recommended, it was boring.” “You said something about lying cakes, I found a mug you might like.” “I talked to that werewolf dude you mentioned.” “So what happened after the Red Wedding?” “I tried it, but it wasn’t for me.”

Vampires were weird creatures. They were inhumanly patient, caring and attentive but at the same time blase and disregarding. But they were listening to him, they reciprocated, not always with the same passion or opinion as Simon, but always in a way that showed they had actually bothered to go into the matter to _form_ an opinion.

“You keep forgetting, that vamps are immortal, Simon”, Raphael said, looking as uninterested as ever as he was draped over some letters. Sometimes Simon wondered if Raphael even liked being clan leader.

“That can’t be the only reason. I’ve never in my life experienced this.”

“You’re new. They might tire of you sooner or later.”

“Not helping.”

“What do you want me to say?” Raphael asked, finally looking up. “And stop your pacing. It’s annoying.” Simon stopped, then let himself fall backwards unto the couch in the office. “You’re not forcing them to listen to you. They _choose_ to. Just be happy about it.”

“Why’d anyone want to listen to me?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because it’s stupid? I mean, what I’m talking about is. It’s meaningless.”

Raphael muttered in Spanish before he huffed a sigh. “It’s not.”

“But—”

“Simon, it’s not.” He was suddenly standing up, frowning in annoyance as he walked around the desk and paused in front of Simon, staring him down. “It’s important to you so they are paying attention. The same way you were listening to Arya about her love for the Ektara, or to Lily about Ten Things I Hate About You. Remember that time you were late for training? You said Julliard wouldn’t stop talking to you about the difference between identical colors.”

Simon remembered that conversation vividly. How Julliard had shown him a palette of black colors, asking him for a preference and when Simon had said they all looked the same, had huffed in outrage and started to emphatically explain in excruciating detail that ink, pitch, jet black and sable were in fact _not_ all the same black tones.

Simon had been late for training about half an hour. Raphael had been livid. Simon had assumed Julliard might have done that on purpose.

“They are just returning what you give them. Don’t be so oblivious.”

Simon stared at him in awe.

“But it certainly helps that we are immortal and have all the time in the world.”

Simon huffed a laugh, leaning forward to push Raphael’s shoulder lightly, let his hand linger. Raphael didn’t pull away. “So they aren’t planning to overthrow me using embarrassing secrets they had lured out of my rants as blackmail?”

“No, they just like you. Which is probably worse.”

Simon smiled. “I see.” After a beat. “I like them, too.”

“Good,” was all Raphael said before he made a point to stare at his paperwork. Simon got the hint and made himself scarce, feeling a lot better. It was time to find Julliard and bugger the hell out of him now that he knew he wasn’t bullying anyone into spending time with him.


	7. 'Cause You're Damned and Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some drama. Bond Trope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter. It's likely I'll go back and revise it but right now I'm just sick of looking at it. I either post it now or in six months, so... I went with now. I apologize, this is an unstructured mess.
> 
> Also warning for mentioning **suicidal tendencies** , I guess. It's one of the OC and not that much or bad.

Simon was pissed.

Worse, he was pissed at the people he thought would understand their problem, would give them advice or support especially _after_ he had spent considerable time persuading Raphael into talking to them in the first place.

But they didn’t understand and it was showing in their expressions. They thought Raphael was overreacting.

Simon snapped. “With all due respect, Alec, but that is bullshit.” Raphael tensed next to him and he was sure he was going to get snarled at as soon as they had left the Institute but seriously, Simon just couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore. “And you know it is.”

Alec looked at him in annoyance, the question why Simon was even talking written all over his face. “A Shadowhunter has been loitering in front of our home for a week, during the day if I might add, more or less casually threatening us when we are on our most vulnerable and when we come here to ask for help, all you say is ‘what do you want? He hasn’t done anything’?”

“I said we’ll talk to him.”

“Not enough,” Simon growled, “Because all it means is that he’ll get a slap on the wrist. And then he’ll appear on our doorstep all pissed about _us_ talking to _you_ about _him_ lurking in front of our home and stab the first vamp that looks at him funny. Then he’ll tell you it was self-defense, so you’ll let him go. And that, Alec, is, if I may repeat myself, _bullshit_.”

Simon felt Raphael look at him but he didn’t dare turn around to the see the expression on his face. He was pretty sure it was promising death. Simon didn’t care at the moment though. That disgusting rat had threatened the security of their home and while he indeed had made no move to enter the hotel at any point, it was obvious that he was trying to bully and coax them into rash decisions. He was looking for the weak link, the one that snapped under the pressure and attacked him, giving him the excuse for some well-deserved justice.

The mood of the hotel had changed over the week because of this, was filled with anxiety, unease and anger. Everyone knew that the Shadowhunter was there. They smelled his blood and heard his heartbeat as he leaned close to the walls of the building, sometimes talking loudly to himself fully aware that they heard him, taunting, sneering, babbling about how they could pretend to play house with Shadowhunters but in the end it meant nothing.

The vampires in the Dumort were all on edge and antsy. They were afraid to leave the hotel at night. The longer it went on the more they stayed inside during the night or only left in large groups. They were told to ignore him, but patience was wearing thin.

Simon was pissed.

And something else, something he failed to put a finger on. Simon didn’t know when it had started, hadn’t been aware of that light fluffy stretch in his stomach in the first place until it was replaced by an overwhelming chill in his guts.

The word ‘bond’ was pulled to the forefront of his consciousness.

“That’s not true, Simon.” Izzy said, surprised. “We’d never just let him go. We’d start an investigation why he had been there in the first place and handle it accordingly.”

Simon turned to her. “After one of us has died, why, thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Clary looked at him strangely, but he powered on, because it didn’t make sense to stop, when he had to deal with Raphael's wrath later on anyway. “And during your investigation there will be sudden proof that he had good reason to be there, that the vampire in question had some shady business with feeding dens. Maybe he will even get a raise for outstanding work performance and we have to mourn another pointless death.”

“Simon, are you alright?” Clary finally asked.

“Of course I’m not alright. I’m scared!” Instead of replying, Clary glared at Raphael. Simon stepped in front of him to drag her attention back, meeting her eyes. “Look, this is my clan we are talking about. They’re good people, they don’t deserve to live in more fear. I know that some vampires give you a hard time, trust me, _I know_ how dangerous some of them are. But even if you have no love for vampires in general, and I know most of you don’t, no judgment here, I’d hoped that you’d at least take this serious. For me. Or Arya. Bernice? Because we really need your help before something bad happens.”

And if the determined look in Derek’s eyes whenever the Shadowhunter opened his mouth to sprout his nonsense was anything to go by something bad _was_ going to happen. Sooner than later.

They were silent for a moment. Simon felt something brush his hand. Before he could react, Alec suddenly spoke. “What do you expect us to do?”

Now Simon turned to Raphael, because this was his part. Raphael didn’t say anything, he simply looked at Simon like he had never seen him before. It quickly changed to a raised eyebrow, a silent invitation to go on. Simon bit his lip, before he turned back to Alec.

“Give us permission to handle him as we see fit, without any repercussions, as soon as he comes too close to our home again.”

They were stunned. Jace was the first to talk. “Are you stupid? We can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“So you can go ahead and say: why, we made a mistake, we thought any random Shadowhunter was him?”

Simon was put off for a second. “Excuse me, have you seen vampires of our clan randomly attacking Shadowhunters? If so, I’d like names and proof so we can address this with our members. If they are still alive that is.”

“Well, they kidnapped you,” Clary said.

Simon rolled his eyes, because that had been months ago. “Under Camille’s command, if I may remind you. Camille was a power hungry bitch who wanted the Mortal Cup, Raphael just wants the vamps to survive this fucking war and maybe, yes maybe, be allowed to go out without having to worry about getting staked, which you all’d know if you’d stop putting earplugs in as soon as he opens his mouth. Understandable as the sentiment is, his cocky attitude is very annoying sometimes.” This time it wasn’t a brush, but a hard back-handed slap against his hip. Simon probably deserved that. “It’s not like we’d make use of this agreement anyway!”

“We wouldn’t?”

“Raphael, don’t.”

Raphael frowned at him.

“No, we wouldn’t. It’s just leverage to get him off our backs. He’ll hear about this agreement. If he knows we got permission from the Clave he’ll hopefully be scared enough to stop bothering us. I mean, he’s still one Shadowhunter against a whole vampire clan. Even he can’t be this suicidal. Taking out one or two vampires can’t be more important than losing his life, I’m sure.”

The Shadowhunters still looked doubtful. Simon pursed his lips. He was getting nowhere. “Clary, you are my best friend, you would do anything for my mother and my sister. I just want you to protect my new family the same way I’d protect you and your family, Jace included.”

“Hey!”

“We can’t do it, Simon,” Alec said again, obviously uneasy. “And I don’t mean in, we don’t want to, we literally can’t do it without approval from higher-ups.”

“This is not what you said all the other times you—Wait no, hold that thought, it’s _exactly_ what _you_ used to say. So I’m not asking you.” He turned to look at Izzy and Jace instead. “I know you did all those unsanctioned missions. I was there several times. _I was one of them!_ Why, why is it suddenly a problem?”

Simon felt a tug on his sleeve. Raphael lifted his chin a little, head tilted slightly to the side, indicating a barely there shake. Simon got the hint to back off. A timed intervention because he had been _so close_ , so close to throw Izzy’s words back at her, to tell her they all owed them for what they had done to the clan, for how often they approached _them_ for all sorts of help, especially in the last few months, how Raphael had every right to refuse but didn’t, that they had _promised_ to be better. Instead, he sighed before he turned to Alec again.

“Okay, what can you offer me? Besides talking to the guy, because we all know that won’t cut it.” Alec frowned, as if he was deep in concentration and tried to come up with a resolution. They had been silent for a long moment, when Simon shrug. “Well then, I’ll make sure I’ll be the first vamp that the Shadowhunter sees every time he comes around. Better me than anyone else.”

“Simon, no!” Clary cried out.

He just glanced at her. “What? Obviously he hasn’t done anything. Nothing to worry about, really. And if I die, well then I die, just another vamp gone. Whatever.”

Clary stared at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open, before she turned around to look at the Lightwoods. That was the moment he knew he had won Clary over. He knew that he was betting on their friendship, that he was _using_ their attachment to each other, hoping she was going to move mountains for him as she always did for herself. At least if she still felt the same about him.

Simon felt dirty.

“Simon,” he heard Raphael's voice in his ear, quiet enough that the Shadowhunters didn’t hear from were they had moved to the side, discussing in hushed whispers as if that would prevent the vampires from actually listening in. When Simon turned his head to Raphael, he was surprised how close the other man was, lips almost brushing his ear as he continued to speak. “Did you just blackmail your best friend into helping us?”

“That’s such a dirty way to phrase it,” he replied, furrowing his brow. “I resent that.” Simon took a step to the other side, putting some space between them, because wow, that intense stare was doing terrible things to his head, his mind spiraling down a dangerous path he’d rather avoid right now or better yet, forever. It really didn’t help that Raphael followed him.

“Could have fooled me.”

“Best friends don’t threaten best friends. They help each other willingly,” Simon huffed, ignoring whatever this was, eyes tracing the outline of the trees in the distance of Central Park. Perfect place for clandestine meetings, really.

Raphael snorted in amusement.

“To be honest,” he said and the humor vanished from Raphael’s expression in an instant as he took his face in. Simon himself wasn’t sure what it was showing to get that sort of reaction. Probably a mixture of desperation, fear, self-hate, disappointment and anger. Sounded like a really healthy and attractive combination. “I’m not really proud that I did it. It’s emotional blackmail.”

“I’d say,” the other started slowly, “turnabout is fair play.”

“I’m better than this.”

Raphael reached out, but instead of the elbow he placed his hand in the middle of his back. “Being better only gets you so far in a world that wants to keep you down. Choose your fights wisely, always try to be one step ahead, never trust anyone to follow the rules and if everything fails, be prepared to fight dirty.” He nodded, miserably, but Raphael wasn’t finished, lightly touching Simon’s chin with his fingers, gently but determinedly turning his head so their eyes met again. It was rare for the older vampire to show anything but mild contempt when surrounded by Shadowhunters, so the sincerity he saw surprised him. “Remember who you’re protecting.”

“It’s the same Valentine is doing. Fighting dirty to protect whatever it is that’s important to him.”

Raphael stared at him, unimpressed. “Is it?”

“Well…”

“Do you want to kill all Shadowhunters? Or werewolves? Do you have any genocidal thoughts I should be aware of? Please let me know. I’ll be the one to push you into the sun to stop you.”

“What? No!”

The hand on his back pressed a little harder, as Raphael leaned forward. “Then don’t compare protecting your family with a delusional manic, whose motivation only comes from hate. Understood?”

Simon nodded, huffing out a laugh as Raphael’s hand gently patted his back once before it retracted.

“Simon,” Clary called. Both vampires turned to look at the group. “Alec might have an idea.”

“Interesting,” Raphael said with a smirk.

Something in Simon’s stomach lightened up at that, but was quickly drowned out by the cold again.

He should probably get himself checked out.

Simon got himself checked out. Well, not really but he did research. He did a lot of research after they had resolved their little issue with that annoying Shadowhunter, showing him that they weren’t simply ‘playing house’, that Clary and Izzy and Jace and even Alec were actually invested in turning this distaste and looking down on Downworlder attitude around. They were a new generation of Shadowhunters and it wasn’t going to be easy, but they were willing to take the necessary steps even if it meant they had to jump over shadows and acknowledge their own latent prejudice. Simon wasn’t one to judge, considering he had to fight his own after he had been turned.

It was a work in progress, but it was a lot and Raphael actually let himself tentatively hope that it _meant_ something. Simon knew, because he had felt it. Somewhere beneath his own relief had been something _not his own._ Not unpleasant or intrusive, just there. Enough for him to be aware of it but easily ignored if he hadn’t been so confused about his body being weird to begin with. Hope wasn’t foreign to him. Hope was often his last resort, but he somehow knew it wasn’t _his_ emotion. It wasn’t until he saw the slightly bewildered look on the older vampire’s face when he watched the group of Shadowhunters that Simon thought maybe it was Raphael’s.

He was sure the second Raphael turned to look at him and warmth settled next to that hope.

The warmth he had felt several times over the past weeks, months even, only to a lesser degree, but still enveloped in icy tendrils.

Simon, completely overwhelmed, spent the next day in the library trying to find everything he could about bonds. Unsurprisingly, there was next to nothing. Vampires tried to keep the whole bond thing under wraps. It was something that was explained, but never written down. It was something most other Downworlders weren’t even aware _existed_ for vampires. Something Simon was sure he wasn’t allowed to share, and in a way, he didn’t even feel like he wanted to.

Didn’t mean there weren’t a buttload of questions, especially since he was sure he had that with Raphael somehow. Was it a one-sided bond? If so, was Raphael aware? Did Simon force him? Had consent been involved for any party? Because Simon was sure he hadn’t been asked. Was it something natural that happened because Raphael was the clan leader? If Simon received Raphael’s feelings, did Raphael get Simon’s as well? Was it something conscious? Subconscious? What did a bond actually _do_ in the first place?

Simon thought back to the last months, tried to remember the first time he felt something that didn’t struck him as too weird but wasn’t his, but all he recalled was a tiny wave of warmth pooling in his midsection, spreading to his bones every once in a while when he was happy or content surrounded by his friends.

Did he bond with other clan members without realizing, too?

Simon remembered that Raphael had tried to explain this special connection vampires had to each other the first weeks he had stayed with the clan, but had given up, when Simon showed blatant disinterest in any form of connection with other vampires. That had been right after he had been forced to join and Simon had still been iffy about the whole thing back then.

Now he regretted his childish behavior.

“So annoying,” he groaned, draping himself over the table, hitting his head against the sturdy wood to accentuate every syllable. “Now I have to ask. Why is this happening?”

“If you break it, you’ll pay for it,” Raphael’s voice threatened next to his left ear.

Simon jerked up, barely avoiding crashing their heads together. “J. effing C. on a stick, _stop_ doing that,” he snapped, trying to stay peeved even as Raphael slid down on a chair next to him with a low chuckle, turning the opened book on the table his way so he was able to read the text.

Simon didn’t even knew how Raphael managed to sneak up on him. He almost _always_ knew where the clan leader was, unless he was too far away – and shit, was this part of the bond? If so, that meant they had bonded almost four months ago. They hadn’t even talked to each other back then. Had Simon’s single-minded attempts to reconnect forced a bond on Raphael? Was that possible?

“Won’t find a lot in the books,” the Latino spoke up.

“Tell me about it. I’ve been here for hours and that’s the most I could find,” he said, waving his hand at the half page in a tome written in Old English. The text was obviously mocking him. After he had gotten used to deciphering the letters the vocabulary was all too happy to make the most _crucial_ words untranslatable. Every time he had thought he was getting there, that this was it, this was what he had been looking for, there was this one word he didn’t understand and not even online translators helped.

It was probably a ruse. A bored vampire’s idea of a joke for the curious. He had come across several of those text passages that weren’t making sense, either were never meant to or written in code. “I’m beginning to think this one’s just messing with me. One of those used to mislead noisy outsiders.”

“It is,” Raphael affirmed, shoving the book back over again, index finger resting on the name of the author. “Stun Wanhoga.”

Simon glanced at it. “Is he known to do that?”

“In a sense,” Raphael said with a voice that suggested there was more to it, albeit with enough humor that Simon was confident it wasn’t anything bad and more likely a harmless inside joke. “What do you want to know about bonds?”

Simon swallowed, averting his eyes, playing with his own fingers. “Uhm, it’s just. How are they established, mostly? And what are they doing?”

Silence settled as Raphael watched him for a moment with an unreadable expression, followed by a confused frown and eventually resting on an amused smile. “Who did you bond with?”

It felt like a cold shower, because _fuck it_ Raphael didn’t know?

Well, this was the moment Simon would have to tell him then. That he sort of bond-assaulted him or whatever the correct term was. Great.

Raphael must have realized his apprehension. The smile replaced by a worried frown, one hand resting on his shoulder as he looked him directly in the eyes. “Simon, relax. It happens naturally. I’d be more worried if you hadn’t bonded with half the clan by now.”

_Half the clan?_

Simon sucked in a breath in relief. “Dammit. Don’t scare me like that,” he groaned after he calmed down. “So why… why was it all warm but now it’s cold?”

Raphael kicked against the leg of Simon’s chair, one hand at the back as he swiveled Simon around in a smooth move so they were suddenly opposite each other, knees almost touching. Hesitating for a second, one hand reached out, placed over Simon’s abdomen. “It’s different for everyone, but for me,” Raphael explained, thumb pressing right below his sternum, “that’s were I feel the clan. If everything’s alright I barely notice it, but when that Shadowhunter showed up, I felt the dread like ice.”

“Oh, that’s why it’s getting warmer again? Because he’s gone?”

Raphael nodded. “You won’t get more out of it. But here,” his hand wandered higher, above his unbeating heart. “That’s for the special bonds.” Lily, Jacob, Elliott – Simon read between the lines.

He blinked at that, huffed a laugh at the implication. “Two different spots?”

Raphael shrugged. “For some. For others it’s one.”

“So… usually it doesn’t go further than warm or cold?”

Instead of answering, Raphael replied with a question of his own. “Who are you closest to in the clan?”

“What a dumb question, it’s—” Simon barely bit back the ‘you’. How conceited, he thought, swallowing the word. Just because _he_ thought it, didn’t mean it was the same for Raphael. Mutual closeness though, that was… “Derek, probably.”

Not Arya or Bernice or Daniel, as much as he liked them. Derek was different, special. Maybe because he was the first after Lily who had talked to him. The first to actually welcome him back. Raphael’s eyes rested on him in this unnerving appraising way, as if he was trying to see right through him and dismantle him like a matryoshka doll. Like he was trying to find the angle, as if there ever was one with Simon.

Simon wasn’t layered. He was simple and easy to read, loved what he loved and disliked what he disliked, never shy of showing it and really bad at hiding anything.

“Go see Derek about this,” Raphael replied in conclusion to whatever he had been debating in his head.

Simon furrowed his brow, question on his lips.

“It’s easier to understand if you do it with him. He’ll be able to explain and show you at the same time.” Raphael stood up in one smooth motion, smirking before he nodded to the book. “Look up the author. It’s not a name.” And with super-speed, he was out of the library, leaving a perplexed Simon behind.

“You want me to explain bonds to you?” Derek asked incredulous, staring at Simon like he had asked him to give up brawling for the rest of his life. “Shouldn’t you do that with Raphael? Or, I don’t know, _anyone_ else?”

“Raphael sent me your way.”

“Why would he do that?” He looked even more confused now, taking the brass knuckles off his fists. As expected, the bulky vampire had been in the middle of one of his spare-time training sessions, either learning new weapons or getting re-acquainted with ones his skills had gotten dusty with. “He knows I hate this stuff. And isn’t he the one you run to if something troubles you? Doesn’t sound right.”

Simon squirmed under the accusing glare he received, his attention suspiciously on the staff weapons attached to the wall. Hands down, it was the truth. Ever since he had become adviser again and had managed to pull Raphael back into their old pattern, Simon felt more inclined to go ask him for any kind of advice than any one else. It wasn’t even funny how quickly he had substituted Lily with Raphael. Not that she seemed to care that much if at all. “I might have sort of told him that we’re really close.”

“You’re lying?” Derek furrowed his brow, crossing his arms in front of his impressive chest, material of his Henley stretching tight. “We both know it’s not true.”

“Hey now, I _do_ consider you my best friend here. I think.”

“After Raphael.”

“ _Reciprocated_ best friend?”

“Are you stupid?”

Simon threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “What do you want me to say? Our relationship basically consists of me annoying him and Raphael not throwing me out for it. Doesn’t matter what I think, if he doesn’t feel the same.”

“You are stupid.”

“You on the other hand,” he continued, ignoring the other man. “You like annoying me as much as I like annoying you.”

Derek leveled him with a glare. He was beginning to look both incredibly unimpressed with Simon’s stupidity and at the same time desperately amused. “Lesson #1,” he sighed, rubbing his temple as if to fight an oncoming headache, “bonds are a two-way street responding to a _mutual_ level of feelings.”

Simon’s expression must have conveyed his confusion accurately, because Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s like, I dunno, the handshake protocol.”

“The what?”

“Handshake protocol? When two devices try to communicate with each other? They establish and negotiate parameters acceptable for both parties—Know what, never mind, you look like I hit you with a chair. I thought that was going to be the easiest example. What kind of nerd _are_ you?”

“Not the tech-savvy kind,” Simon snapped, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, let’s try—Okay, I’m not good at this. But let’s say, if your feelings are, I don’t know… level 3? But the other party is only up for level 2 your connection will stay a 2 on both sides, you feel me?”

“Level?”

“The intensity,” Derek explained impatiently. “Let’s say the clan is 1, translate to acquaintances maybe, this annoyingly warm feeling that’s been settling ever since Camille has been gone. For me, somewhere here.” Derek pointed to his left shoulder. “Makes me all jumpy. The closer you get to others, the stronger it will be. You’re maybe a 3 for me. Max.”

Simon tried not to feel insulted even if he didn’t even knew how far the scale went. Hopefully up to 5? That made 3 over 50% and that wasn’t _s_ _o_ _oo_ bad. “Are these levels scientific or are you making them up?”

“It’s to explain, dumb ass,” Derek huffed. “There’s no bond-meter or someone calculating experience points or whatever. This is like that one game you talked about. The one with companions you could bribe with presents to fill their relationship meter.”

“Dragon Age?”

“If you say so. I just remember you rambling about someone not giving you a ring even though you’d hit 100 with them.”

“Ear ring.”

“Anyway,” Derek said dismissively, “Like that. Relationship milestones. Levels. Titles. Acquaintance, friend, best friend. Whatever. We are 30% max, whatever that equals to.”

“Interested,” Simon answered with a smirk.

“Close enough.”

He mulled the words over. It was easy enough to understand, considering how abstract the whole concept of relationships was even without adding the term ‘bond’ to that mix. The most important thing he got out of it was at least, that it was more or less consensual. Relief washed over him at that thought. “I thought I forced this on Raphael. That’s why I was too afraid to tell him.”

Derek gave a booming laugh, but stopped when he realized Simon was serious. “No, no, no. You can’t force that on anyone, Baby. You reached out and he answered. It’s not really a conscious thing, it’s based on _feelings_.” Derek’s shoulders sank with his whole body in resignation to his fate, then he pulled Simon on the gym mat with him and crossed his legs under his body. “Okay, sit down, apparently we’re having this talk.”

Simon shuffled on the mattress until he got comfortable, than watched the other man expectantly.

“Humor me for a bit,” Derek started. “How long did it take you to find me?”

“It’s either the gym or your room,” Simon replied after a moment he spent wondering how serious the question was. “Not much of a brain-teaser when it comes to you. I tried the gym first.”

“So you just guessed I was here?”

Simon shrugged but nodded in affirmation.

“Where’s Julliard right now?”

At that, he pulled a blank, shrugged again. “Somewhere in the hotel.”

“Bernice?”

“Common room, first floor I think. Maybe second? Might be the kitchen?”

“What’s with Arya?”

Simon tried to find her presence or at least any lingering residue, but nothing came up. “Not here, I think.”

Derek grinned. “Yeah, bit mean. She’s too far away. Can’t get her exact location, but she’s a few miles somewhere thataway.” His thumb pointed to a direction behind him. “So where’s Raphael?”

Simon didn’t even hesitate, before a grin spread over his lips at the answer, because were else was he going to be? “His office.”

“Didn’t even take you a second.”

“Nope.”

Derek stared at him.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Well then,” Simon said, suddenly feeling bashful for whatever reason.

“Pretty much the easiest way to find out where you stand with someone as long as they are in the hotel at least. By the way, Bernice is closer to you than I am, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Did that. Notice I mean.” Simon was silent for a moment. “Is there a possibility that they don’t know who they respond to? That it’s me?” Derek stared at him again. Without blinking. “Okay, so, I guess that’s a no. But that doesn’t make sense. I mean, I was able to find him months ago. I’m talking late spring here.”

“Just locating, nothing else?”

“Not until yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday?”

“I yelled at Alec a bit and Clary to help us with our Shadowhunter problem by insinuating suicide.”

Derek blinked once, then coughed like he was choking on something until he apparently decided to screw it and just flat-out laughed again. “You’re trouble, Lewis,” he said between chuckles. “I see. Finally went for it, eh?”

Simon cocked his head in confusion. “If you mean the dark side, guess so. But I honestly only did it for the cookies.”

That reference flew right over the other man’s head, but it didn’t seem to bother him, instead he huffed in amusement. “You poor kid,” he said, then looked at Simon. _R_ _eally looked_ at him with an intensity that made Simon squirm with self-consciousness. “I had my suspicions, but you’re really oblivious, aren’t you?”

It was true, that Simon sometimes needed a nudge in the right direction especially when he was distracted by something and ran around wearing blinders. However, the fact that Derek called him oblivious was a little offending, even though Raphael was implying that all the time, if he was being honest. It bothered him less when it came from the Latino for some reason.

“Oblivious to what?”

“Ask Raphael.”

“What? Can’t _you_ tell me?” Simon shot back suspiciously. It felt like Derek was setting him up for a trap. So what if he was oblivious, he wasn’t completely _stupid_. “Can you at least tell me what it’s about?”

At that, Derek deigned to answer. “Something about you. 100% sure Raphael knows and knows that _you_ don’t.”

“Is it something bad?”

Derek fell silent, before he smacked his thigh. “Okay, good talk. I’ll let Raphael handle the rest.”

Simon threw his hands in the air. “You’re pissing me off. And don’t you think Raphael would have talked to me about bonds if he wanted to? From where I stand it has been going on for months now and he never felt the need to mention it. And now that I think about it, he should have told me.”

“He might have not noticed himself,” the other replied, shrugging. “And he might have today if you hadn’t blabbered my name out. What was he supposed to answer? ‘Baby, I know you’re lying because Derek’s an asshole who’d never see you as a friend’?”

Simon flinched at the sting of this revelation, but instead of verbally reacting to the slap to his face, he looked at his crossed feet, pulling at the rim of his sock. Derek shifted and after a long moment of awkward silence, he reached out with his leg and bumped their feet together. Simon didn’t look up.

“Listen, Simon. I like you, more than I should. But losing someone… hurts. Twice as much for vampires because of the bond. It’s not what you know as a human, well, partially it is, but when my brother died,” Derek stopped for a breath, “I don’t want anyone else to feel like that because of me. ‘specially since I’m not particularly keen on making it.”

At that, Simon’s head whipped up. “Making what?”

“‘snot like I want to throw my life away for something stupid or go take a stroll in the sun,” he said with a shrug, voice flat. “But sometimes I purposely cut it close with the daylight. Or pick a fight with the wrong people. Wouldn’t mind dying today or tomorrow. I just honestly don’t give a damn anymore. Trust me, you don’t want me anywhere in there.” He pointed vaguely at Simon’s body. “Wouldn’t want anyone grieving more than necessary.”

“Now who’s stupid,” Simon growled, barely computing what he was being told. He had always thought Derek was reckless, that he lacked ambition and motivation, but he had never prescribed it to depression or suicidal thoughts, more to his usually laid-back personality.

“And tough luck,” he continued, not even trying to hide his anger, “Just because you think I’m not important to _you_ , doesn’t mean you’re not important to _me_. Fuck whatever the bond says, if you’d die I’d grieve the fuck out of your death. So you better not go dying on me or I _will_ kick your ass.”

Derek laughed at that, then let out an annoyed groan when Simon felt something like dread settle in the pit of his stomach, a tiny thing he barely registered. His eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t _his_. “Is that you?”

“Fuck me sideways,” Derek growled. “And fuck you twice, Simon Lewis.”

“Did I just get a friendship upgrade from you?”

“Fuck off.”

“After all my courting all I had to do was threaten you?”

Derek remained sulkily silent.

“I get the feeling that’s a thing for vamps. Threats.”

“Stop being all giddy. It makes me want to claw my neck out.” Simon furrowed his brow at that. Derek understood the silent question, pointing to a spot below his ear, to the juncture of jaw and neck. “My brother used to be there. Arya, she’s my buddy, she’s there. Lily, too. And now you, too, you asshole.” Derek sounded honestly angry, as if that was in any way _Simon’s_ fault. “It’s going to be so fucking annoying. You’re so _emotional_. No idea how Raphael deals with this shit. Probably suppressing the hell out of it.”

“You’re still here,” Simon said, pointing at his midsection. “With the clan.”

“So you only have one spot, ‘s not bad. Doesn’t mean shit.”

He processed that for a minute, before waggling his eyebrows. “From 1 to 10, are we at least a 5 now?” Derek looked ready to murder him. “What’s that equal to? Friend? Best friend? Bestest of friends?”

The other man growled, turned it into a huff of annoyance and then stood up. “I hate you.”

Simon snickered. “Nuh, I have bond-proof now. You _like_ me.”

“Not for long. And from now on, you and your pesky feelings better stay at least 30 feet away from me.”

“Does distance weaken the link?”

“Thank fucking God it does, so go,” Derek wipe one hand over his face, shooing him with the other. “Go away. Now. Before I slap the smugness out of you. Jesus, don’t need a bond to feel _that_. Plain on your stupid face.”

Simon laughed happily and Derek’s murderous glare softened a little even while he muttered, “You and Raphael deserve each other.”

He stopped at that, rolling his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re stupid and he’s an ass.”

Whatever _that_ meant.

Two days later, Simon intercepted Raphael on his way from the kitchen to his bedroom. He knew he was still oozing smugness from every pore, getting a kick out of annoying Derek with an onslaught of happy emotions and getting something sharp he couldn’t define in return. It wasn’t unpleasant but he still thought it was probably time to stop bullying the poor man. It was obvious he honestly was more worried about Simon than himself.

Knowing what it felt like to lose someone, he understood Derek’s dilemma. It had been bad enough when his father had died and if it hadn’t been for his sister, he would have never coped. Hopefully he never had to find out how much worse is was going to be when a bond was involved, which was the main reason he flooded the other vampire with affection, hoping it served as a reminder to not do anything stupid.

Raphael had only acknowledge his presence with a nod, but didn’t stop on his way, leaving Simon to follow him silently until they were almost at Raphael’s room and he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. “Fool Fool, eh?”

“Yep.”

“That’s rather on the nose.”

“Didn’t stop you from fretting over the text.”

“In my defense, my Old English is rusty.” And with that he meant none-existent unless online translator counted. After Raphael’s hint to look the name of the author up he simply put it in one of the translators and found out that both words meant fool or idiot. Simon hated vampires.

“By the way, Derek and I are a 5 now. At _least_.”

Raphael didn’t even break his stride as he snorted a laugh. “Congrats.”

“Do you even know what I’m talking about?”

“No idea whatsoever.”

They reached Raphael’s room and Simon hesitated for a second before he realized the other held the door open for him, so he slipped inside. It wasn’t the first time he had been in there but some part of him had expected Raphael to never ever let him enter again.

“Derek tried to explain the bond intensity in levels. Like a video game that lets you unlock new skills with every level up. Level 1, Beginner, skill: Hot or Cold. Level 5, Empath, skill: _F_ _eeling_ _E_ _motions,_ apparently. Level 10, Star-crossed Lovers, skill: probably mind-reading.”

Raphael shouldn’t look this amused at his nonsense. “Sounds like he did a great job.”

Simon watched him, then hunched his shoulders. He was just going to tackle it. Like removing an band aid. “Since when have you known?”

“Known what?”

Simon gestured between their bodies, hoping to convey what he meant.

Raphael frowned. “The day we met the Shadowhunters in Central Park.” So the same day Simon had realized it, apparently. “I came looking for you in the library to talk about it, but you had it figured out already.”

That wasn’t what Simon had expected. So Raphael hadn’t kept it a secret from him at all? “Huh,” was all he said for a long time, letting his eyes roam so he didn’t have to face the other vampire. “Turned out I stalked you for a bit. Not big of a deal, I’ve been assured but I’ve been able to locate you anywhere for months now.”

There was no reaction, at least not verbally, so Simon trained his eyes back on Raphael, who appeared to impatiently wait for the punch line or for the point of this conversation. Too bad that this revelation _had been_ his point. Wasn’t this considered invasion of privacy or did vampire simply develop a different sense for it? It was no secret that Raphael was a rather private person, having someone follow him around, albeit just in the concept of tracking should have at least unsettled him.

“You and probably a quarter of the clan,” Raphael finally offered into the awkward silence.

Oh. _Oh!_

“Thank G, I’m not the only one?”

A wry smile appeared in lieu of a reply.

“Derek didn’t feel like explaining at lot,” Simon continued, weight off his shoulder. “Sort of kicked me out so I tried to figured stuff out myself. There’s just… how can I differentiate? I mean, how do I know who is what?”

Simon had spent the last two days figuring his ‘bond’ relationships out only to discover that he was friends with surprisingly emotional stable people and that included Maria. Arya was usually chill leaning heavily to the fun and happy side of life. He didn’t get more than some soft nudges from her and only when they were in the same room. Daniel and Bernice were almost the same, and now that everyone in the clan was beginning to relax again, barely indistinguishable from the general contentment. He barely felt Derek unless he really, really concentrated on him. The only way he measured what was who was by distance and he realized quickly that 30 feet really were enough to mute everything apart from the base line.

“You’ll learn in time,” Raphael said. “It’s convoluted and confusing at the beginning for everyone. Just another thing you’ll have to get used to.”

Great.

“So the fact it’s all here,” Simon pointed at his stomach, “will that change, too?”

“Don’t think so. It probably means everyone’s equal to you.” Simon tilted his head, not sure what to make out of those words, apart from the literal meaning. “It honestly doesn’t matter.”

Maybe it didn’t matter. It was still weird and for some reason he wished he had a different spot for special people, but in the end, his body had different plans. Frankly, he should be happy to feel anything at all again. So he dropped the topic. Not that he could change anything anyway.

“One last question and I’ll leave you alone. Scout’s honor.”

The Latino rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it.

“What’s Derek talking about when he says there’s something you know that I don’t know?”

“Can you be more specific?”

Okay, Simon had been setting himself up for that.

“Derek was being all cryptic, told me to talk to you about it. Saying I’m an idiot and you’re a bastard and that you know something about myself that I don’t get.”

Raphael furrowed his brow in concentration, before he snorted at whatever conclusion he had arrived at. “Oh. That.”

“What’s he mean?”

“Literally yourself.”

Simon was confused. Raphael waved his hand. “It’s normal for newer vamps,” he explained, walking pass Simon in the direction of his closet, removing his jacket and then the cufflinks from his sleeves. “You still think like a living human. It’s why you prefer to suppress the noise around instead of focusing your hearing.” Simon watched him enter the wardrobe and returning a moment later sans waistcoat, only dressed in his shirt now. “Humans rely on signals from the body,” Raphael continued, sitting down on his couch and waving his hand in what vaguely passed as an invitation so Simon joined him. “Fear is more than the thought of ‘This scares me’. It’s increased breathing and heart rate, blood vessels constricting, goosebumps. But you don’t have that anymore.”

Simon furrowed his brow, trying to understand where this was going. It also didn’t seem all that relevant, at least not to warrant Derek mocking him for it. “Like Silent Hill was still good but I didn’t get too much into it because my body was all ‘meeh’?”

Raphael raised an eyebrow at him. “Very eloquent,” he snorted. “But yes. Emotions as a vampire are somewhat… dulled. It makes some harder to parse than others.”

Simon watched Raphael’s expression, waiting for a shift to his trademark smirk or frown of confusion or the exasperated eyeroll when he thought Simon was acting exceptionally obtuse, but it remained inquisitive.

“Bejus, Derek’s a dick,” Simon finally decided. He had been worried about nothing. Well not down-right nothing but learning that he perceived his surroundings more muted than before wasn’t something new to him. It was probably better that at least some parts were toned down, when everything else had been notched up to max. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already battling sensory overload all the time.

“Simon,” the tone used for his name made him cringe. It reminded him of his mother when she had caught him hands down the cookie jar. “It’s been on my mind for a while. You’ve been a vampire for almost a year. Don’t you think you should be able to say God and Jesus by now?”

That hit him unexpectedly. Not the fact that Raphael was judging him for his apparent lack in getting some words out, but that he was right. It _had_ almost been a year. For some reason, Simon had trouble to process that thought. “Uh… no idea? How long does it usually take?”

Instead of replying, Raphael’s eyes found the clock on his wall before he asked, “Do you have time?”

“Right now?” Raphael’s ability to express how stupid he thought Simon was by face muscles alone was exceptional. No word’s needed, really. “Yeah, sure, why?”

“Let’s work on that. I can’t listen to you butchering God’s name and squealing out ‘OMG’s’ like you’re some overexcited teenager anymore.”

Simon guffawed at that. There were things that worked with Raphael; silence, sarcasm, off-handed insults. OMG same as woo was absolutely not on that list, which was ironic considering that from all the vampires in the clan he was the closest to an actual teenager, at least in appearance. Theo with his 60-something could skip around talking like Kim Kardashian and no one would bat an eyelash, but _Raphael_? Instant fried brain.

“Now I want you to use valtalk. Or vocal fry.”

The expression on Raphael’s face was priceless. Simon wished he had his phone to snap a picture, because this was the most profound adorably befuddled he had ever seen the usually so in-control clan leader. Simon was somewhat proud. He did that!

“Nevermind, get lost,” Raphael huffed in disgust, waving one hand in the direction of the door in blatant dismissal.

Simon laughed and made no move to get up and leave. Instead he toed his shoes off and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch, fully facing Raphael now with an expectant expression. The other had his elbow on the back of the couch, head propped against the hand as he leveled him with an unimpressed glare but eventually relented with a sigh.

Simon was honestly relieved that Raphael offered to help him with that little problem. Though he had learned to live with avoiding certain words by making up stupid other names and acronyms, it had become an increasing irritation in his unlife, especially when it came to singing or talking to his mother or sister on the phone.

It took about an hour before Simon was able to squelch the feeling of strangulation whenever he tried to choke out one of the holy names. He should have known that what came after was going to be worse. Determined, he worked through the suffocation and pain to finally spit out the word ‘God’ only to be rewarded with a burn like he had swallowed acid or fire. Raphael looked at him with something akin to sympathy, even rubbing his back as Simon leaned half off the couch, retching to get that imaginary sensation out off his system.

It was ridiculous.

So fucking stupid.

Saying that word wasn’t fucking worth it.

He stated as much after his throat had calmed down but didn’t stop at that. “I didn’t choose to become a vampire. I didn’t ask Camille to feed me her blood and kill me. I didn’t ask for you to turn me. What am I being punished for? Stupidity?”

The hand on his back stilled. Simon wished it’d start moving again.

“Downworlders are children of trauma and pain,” Raphael started. “Warlocks are born from rape and deceit. Werewolves from brutality and sickness. Vampires from death. They all suffered and lost something and none asked for any of it.”

Simon turned to look at Raphael, but the other had his eyes fixed at a spot somewhere above his bed. “They have the pros with none of the cons,” he muttered after a while. “Or at least not cons we don’t have as well. Bloodlust? Check, had to learn to control that, same as werewolves. The hard way even. Almost ate my mother. But they can walk in the sun, they can eat and _taste_ what they want, they can say whatever the fuck they want without tripping over fire, they age and live with their families and have a more or less normal life apart from turning furry every now and then.”

“Don’t compare yourself,” Raphael said sharply. “Thoughts like that make the dissent grow between Downworlders.”

Simon shut his mouth with a click, averting his eyes in shame. “Don’t really mean it, anyway. I’m just frustrated. Saying g.o.d. is such a simple thing, but it hurts like hell. What makes us less worthy than all the other Downworlders? Makes us more of a monster? The blood? _Humans_ consume blood. Blood pudding _is_ a thing. I was a fucking vegetarian before all of this. I just don’t get it.”

Raphael nodded, retrieved his hand and all Simon missed was the pressure on his skin, reminding him off how cold a vampire’s body was. Part of him understood the resentment and jealousy vampires felt for werewolves, honestly thought that from all the Downworlders vampires were the most hated and punished. Another part, the thankfully larger and more logical part understood what Raphael said, that neither they nor him had any say in that matter. Had their hardships, traumas and terrors to deal with.

“Sorry. Just complaining. I think I’m tired.”

“It’s late,” Raphael confirmed.

“Yeah, time for sleep, you’re right.”

Raphael stood up, opening the door for Simon before he had even moved one leg off the couch. Quite the obvious cue, he thought, a ‘Thank you’ and a question he didn’t knew how to formulate on his lips. Especially after his tiny temper tantrum.

“Come by whenever you want to continue,” Raphael said as if he had read Simon’s mind. Which was likely because Simon still thought that Raphael was a mind reader somehow. Or maybe Simon’s face was just that expressive.

“Thank you. And, again, sorry for that,” he hung his head, avoiding eye contact as he moved to leave. “Sleep well.”

Raphael nodded, then dismissed him with the innocent words “Goodbye, Simon”.

The second Simon heard them, he tripped over his feet, smacking face first into the opposite wall of the hallway. It wasn’t the words, that had reduced him to a stumbling mess and made him turn around with a scandalized expression, but the _way_ they had been uttered. Raphael shock his head with a badly concealed chuckle, as he closed the door without further ado.

Somehow Simon had expected it to sound weirder on Raphael, that croaky, glottal way of speaking, but it was mostly lost under his smooth voice and probably only apparent because he had exaggerated the sounds. The thing that actually had caught him off-guard had been the combination with uptalk.

Face either hurting from the intimate encounter with the wall or the wide grin stretched over his lips, Simon’s previously sour mood was completely wiped out by the other’s completely unexpected display. Removing himself from the the wall, Simon snickered to himself.

One of these days, Raphael was going to be the death of him.


	8. And the Whole Clan Gathers Round'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's birthday. He wasn't the only one who forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably has so many mistakes in it. I've been revising this a million times and will come back to correct whatever I can find next week. For now, get this thing out of my sight.  
> Thank you for the on-going support! I hope you continue to enjoy this!

Simon _forgot_.

If his mother hadn‘t called and hinted at him spending the weekend at home with the subtlety of a brick to the head, he would have absolutely forgotten his own birthday. October. It was October. His birthday was _tomorrow_ and that meant Simon only had a few days to the weekend for his freak out, because _h_ _is mom expected him home._

So far, Simon had gotten away with phone calls and a handful visits at home for an hour max, convincing her he was busy with part-time work, university and of course band practice for their next tour. It was a wonder she still believed him, considering how bad a liar Simon was and how he looked like he wanted to ram a knife in his stomach and twist it around for lying to her in the first place.

She was probably just happy that he didn’t act all irrational and like he was on drugs anymore when he showed up. Simon on the other hand was glad that he didn’t find any evidence of her drinking again. They both ignored how small and lonely she looked whenever he left with an excuse of a curfew, leaving her alone in a house too big for one person.

Now his birthday was coming up, and even though she didn’t expect him to celebrate on the exact day, she was hoping he would at least visit her on the weekend.

Simon wanted to drown himself in the Hudson.

He could drag Clary with him. She was frighteningly good at keeping up with all the lies, would kick him in the shin when he was about to accidentally spill the beans about something. Clary had been a fixture in his life for years now. It was probably weirder if he didn’t show up with her by his side.

What worried him the most was the food though.

Simon had experimented with eating and promptly decided that the side effects simply weren’t worth it, pain festering in his gut like lead, the food slowly rotting in his stomach if he didn’t puke it out. It was disgusting and painful and throwing up extremely annoying.

Maybe he could fake an upset stomach. Gastric flu? Parasite?

“Dios, you’re driving me crazy.”

Simon stopped his fidgety pacing, throwing Raphael an innocent smile with an ‘Raphael, amigo, what a coincidence to meet you here’-expression, while the other expectantly crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaning against the door frame of his office.

Which was were Simon had started pacing after he had decided against knocking on the door, absorbed by his thoughts.

“Do you have time?” he opened without preamble.

“When and what for?”

“Tonight. Get a drink at Taki’s with me? Get out of this dungeon? Change of scenery? Maybe even _talk_?” At the last word, he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows.

Raphael ignored it. “You’re asking me? What about your friends?”

“All busy,” he replied tersely with a throw-away hand gesture.

Leave it to Raphael to hit the nail right on the head.

Simon wasn’t going to announce that it was his birthday, God forbid, no, everyone in the hotel were vampires with more birthdays under their bellies than anyone would ever want to celebrate. If at all they probably only did the big ones, maybe in decades, _but_ he had hoped he could spent some time with his friends, maybe get everyone together.

However, Clary was busy with some special Shadowhunter training thing she couldn’t get out of in Edris, profusely apologetic as she did remember what day it was going to be and promising to make it up to him. Luke wasn’t any less apologetic as he told him he was working the night shift, and would have come by between shifts if he hadn’t been working for about 37 hours straight. Simon felt bad just listening to him, waving him off and hoping he would catch at least some sleep. Derek told him he was going on a date with some chick he had tried to bed in forever, which basically meant for one or two days. Daniel was meeting the parents of his cute werewolf girlfriend and Simon really wanted to have details on how _that_ went. Bernice had been busy with some work that she didn’t closely specify for days by now and honestly, it was always a good idea to never ask questions about her work.

The only one with actual time on her hands might have been Arya, but she had headed out on errands for Lily as soon as the sun had set.

The list of people he wanted to spend time with was unsurprisingly short.

If Raphael said no, Simon decided he was going to follow Elliott around. The guy was always up for company and some shenanigans and as long as it wasn’t an orgy, Simon wouldn’t mind being dragged into whatever antics he had planned that day.

“You’re actually the lead of a telenovela, aren’t you?”

Simon made a noise of confusion. That wasn’t a reaction he had been prepared for. That wasn’t even in the realm of anything he could have anticipated because it _didn’t make any sense_.

“Taki’s. 11.00 PM.”

“Huh?” Raphael watched him, and Simon realized that he was waiting for a reply. Earlier than he had expected, but he honestly didn’t mind. “Sure, fine by me,” he finally answered with a bright smile. The older vampire nodded and turned around on his heels to head back into the office.

Simon continued to stand in front of the open door for a few seconds with a stupid grin on his face because he was getting drinks with Raphael.

 _Raphael_ _Santiago_.

The last person he had expected to agree, if he were honest.

Frankly, he hadn’t planned this through at all.

There was a reason Raphael had been at the bottom of the list of people to ask out for some social time: Simon in all his twaddling glory had no idea what to talk to him about outside of anything clan-related. It wasn’t that he was incapable of finding topics; no, he was passionate about a lot of things, but that was the problem: _he_ was. Raphael? Simon had no clue what Raphael was interested in and he had spent months trying to figure that out.

Whenever Raphael was in the hotel he was either working or reading. While reading was indeed an admirable hobby he could relate to, the books Raphael read went straight over Simon’s head. Either because they were in Spanish or old classics from authors like Hesse and Dostoyevsky. Not to snub classical literature but Simon was a fan of a more energetic, fluent writing style. So while he might know some of the books, it was on a rather superficial heard-about-them-in-school way and nothing he was able to have any real discussions about.

Though Simon did try a few of the books he saw lying around in Raphael’s office, he almost had an aneurysm reading ‘Simplicius Simplicissimus’, halfway through ‘Brave New World’ he wanted to rip the book apart and ‘Watership Down’ made him squirm in a really, really bad way. They probably had very different taste in literature, he decided. Or Raphael was at a point in his life were he’d read _anything_. Immortal beings that vampires were, how many years did it take to get through the ‘Books I want to read in my life’-bucket list until you ran out of material? Especially as a vampire. For some of them speed-reading was an Olympic discipline and while Simon didn’t have any proof he suspected Raphael was among them seeing as he changed what he was reading on a daily basis. That, or Raphael hated the titles as much as Simon did and never finished them.

In the rare cases that Raphael actually left the hotel, he was usually out for meetings or sometimes on the look-out for clan members who were cutting it particularly close to dawn. Raphael really didn’t like when that happened. Other times he left for a few hours and came back smelling of Magnus and patchouli, so Simon gathered he was hanging out with his friend. Sometimes Raphael was forced along to the Pandemonium or some other party by Magnus or Elliott but it was obvious that he hated the pounding music and smell of sweat, puke and other bodily fluids. The rare times Simon had ventured into the party scene together with him, he kept snickering at Raphael’s wrinkled nose at everyone coming too close and annoyed expression at everything else going on.

Simon understood, though. He used to like it, losing himself to the music and rhythm, bodies of strangers brushing against his own, hands and fingers stealing accidental touches. It had changed after getting turned. He couldn’t put his finger on the why, but thought it might have to do with his heightened senses. How the smell of strangers lingered too long, was always too strong and mixed with too many chemicals that made him want to sneeze. How hands on his skin always felt too hot, almost burning. How the loud music was muting his other senses, making him feel vulnerable and keeping him on edge and dizzy.

It simply wasn’t the same anymore. Another reminder of what had change. He tried it a couple of times, but realized soon that it wasn’t his scene anymore and eventually dropped going unless someone strongly insisted on his company, which happened almost never.

Usually though, when Raphael returned from his outings, he simply smelled of fresh and cold air and something crisp and smoky. Simon wondered if he was allowed to asked, then decided to stop that train of thought altogether. Raphael didn’t like prying or talking about his personal affairs in the first place. Something he had accepted a long time ago.

Considering how much time they spent together working, it was amazing how little Simon knew about Raphael, most information acquired solely by observation. So he was validly on the brink of panic when it finally settled in that he was going to Taki’s Dinner _with Raphael_. Talking to someone you work with on a daily basis about everything under the moon, most of the time related to stuff concerning work, which was everything that included the clan and yes, even gossip, and having them use their _off-time_ for him, _Simon_ , were completely different things.

Simon felt under pressure.

Fortunately, it turned out he was worried for nothing.

Raphael was high maintenance in many regards, but apparently not in conversation. He was content with silence the same way he was content with letting Simon prattle on about everything and nothing. Their conversation followed a smooth albeit easygoing flow, like they had all the time in the world and for once, Simon wasn’t tripping over his words in an attempt to rush thoughts out as quickly as possible.

Raphael didn’t offer much on a personal level, but he had an opinion to most of the things Simon brought up in their conversation, not beating around the bush with niceties when their opinions clashed, nevertheless staying calm and objective in their discussion. Though he did tend to be much more subjective when they shared the same opinion. Simon was joking when he said that Raphael must have been in a debating club, then choked on his drink when the other affirmed it nonchalantly.

He thought he was sneaky when he stirred the conversation more in the direction of Raphael’s High School life, but the knowing smirk the other gave him was enough to let him know that he failed miserably. Still, Raphael indulged him, but halfway through a story about getting caught smoking in the restroom and getting punished with rulers Simon wasn’t sure how serious Raphael actually was. His facial expression wasn’t any help to figure it out so Simon took it in stride and assumed veracity until proven otherwise. In dubio pro Honesty or whatever.

Time flew by fast and he was so absorbed in their discourse about the torture mechanism called doge ball, bane to every single student at least ever since whatever time Raphael had started to go to school – late Fourties maybe? – that he hadn’t even noticed midnight passing and the night ticking into October 17th. He only realized when Raphael’s phone lightened up, showing the time of half past midnight and Magnus’ name below at the incoming call. The older vampire glanced at the screen for a moment.

“I better take that,” Raphael said with a frown. Simon simply waved him off, wondering if he should order another drink while trying to avoid listening in on the call, which Raphael made bloody difficult, considering that he didn’t even leave the table, let alone lower his voice. Simon could hear the conversation as if he was holding the phone himself. Magnus’ louder than necessary question of ‘Is he with you?’ didn’t help with the privacy issue as well.

Huffing at Magnus’ sudden rant of how _Simon_ wasn’t picking his phone up even though he had called him _several_ times by now – at which Simon scrambled for his phone in his pockets and after pulling it out found four missed calls from Magnus in quick succession, one from Arya, a short message of ‘Where u at?’ from Bernice and another message from Maureen he decided to ignore for now – Simon’s amusement was instantly slapped off his face as he envisioned all the horror scenarios that could have led to this urgency.

Raphael must have realized his distress, raising his hand, index finger pointed up as he shook his head, mouthing ‘All good’.

“You’re freaking him out. Stop it,” Raphael finally interrupted Magnus’, then held the phone out for Simon to take.

‘Samson,’ Magnus’ cheerful voice greeted. Simon had to suppress the urge to hang up on the warlock because that many calls made him justifiably antsy and imagine really, really terrible things that did not go well with this tone of voice. ‘Remember the favor you owe me?’

“Yeah,” he said, shifting in his seat. Raphael tilted his head, pointing at something behind him and at Simon’s nod, stood up and left to do whatever he had been indicating.

‘Terrific. I expect you here in half an hour.’

“What? You want me to come _now_? Can’t it wait?”

‘Unfortunately, no.’

“I’m sort of in a middle of something.”

‘Raphael can tag along, I don’t mind.’

“Not what I meant,” Simon replied, pushing his face in his hand, then rubbing his temple, when Magnus fell into a speech of how he had always been there to help them out. “Fine, I’ll be there. This better be important.”

‘It always is.’ Simon could only imagine the smug grin and flourish with which the warlock hung up. He sighed into his hand a few times, then slid the phone over the table back to where it had been and waited for Raphael to return. When the Latino showed up, he had his leather jacket already draped over one arm, not even moving to sit back down. “Come on, let’s go.”

Simon watched him with wide eyes, then snorted out a laugh. “You heard.”

“No, but it’s Magnus. He wouldn’t call if he didn’t want something.”

Right.

“Yeah, just gonna pay—”

“Already taken care off.”

“No!” Simon groaned. “No, _I_ invited _you_ , come on, you can’t just go and pay.”

“I’ll deduct it from your salary if it makes you happy,” Raphael replied with a voice indicating he would forget this conversation had even taken place the second they stepped out of the diner. Simon vowed to sneak the money back into Raphael’s pocket _somehow_.

They made their way over to Magnus’ walking at leisure, Simon griping at Raphael for the sneak payment attack, which only seemed to amuse the other vampire further, so he dropped it and instead thanked him, which Raphael accepted with feigned courtesy.

Simon tried to hide his amusement, overplaying it by changing the topic. “Sorry, you know, about Magnus.”

“He wouldn’t have been this annoying if it weren’t important,” Raphael assured.

“Yeah, I mean, he apparently even contacted Arya. Or Bernice. Probably just Bernice. They bonded over gossip and exchanged numbers the second she finished her story about some triangle relationship drama.”

Raphael hummed in agreement, expression relaxed and quiet, hands in his pockets as they strolled along the blocks leading up to Magnus’ hideout. Simon wanted to reach out and tousle that neatly styled hair to complete the pliant appearance he usually was only treated to after the older vampire woke up from his rare nightmares.

Raphael appeared content.

It made Simon smile, as he hunched his shoulder to hide his equally happy expression, pushing his hands in his pockets, his fingers suddenly touching the phone. Which reminded him. He pulled it out of his pocket, waved it in Raphael’s direction to catch his attention. “Better let them know where I am so they can stop worrying.”

Replying quickly to Bernice’s message with an ‘omw2 Magnus’, he scrolled down to the one, that he had previously ignored. His thumb hovered hesitantly over Maureen’s name.

They hadn’t parted on the best terms, by which he meant he had been an asshole and then they had never talked again after that. Taking a deep breath, he finally opened the message, eyes trailing over her words, shoulders sagging with every sentence.

Maureen was wishing him a happy birthday, hoping he was spending his day with the people he loved, doing something fun, mildly hinting on her regret over their fall out like it was _her_ fault, when it had just been Simon being fucked over by Camille and being too preoccupied to even spare a few minutes thinking about what he had done to her.

“Something wrong?”

Simon startled out of his thoughts, eyes trailing to Raphael. “Message from an old friend,” he said, chewing his lower lips, wondering how much he was willing to share. “She got the brunt of everything when I was, you know, drugged on Camille. I did some really shitty things. Sure you can relate,” he added with a hint of self-deprecation. “We haven’t talked ever since.”

Raphael nodded. “So she’s willing to reconcile now?”

“What makes you say that?”

“She contacted you. Unless it’s something bad?”

“No,” Simon rushed to defend her, “Maureen’s not like that. She… Christ, I hurt her pretty badly and she’s being all nice and…,” he struggled for the right words and both stopped walking as he sorted through his brain for what to say without giving the pathetic situation he only vaguely remembered away.

For once, words failed him.

Raphael seemed to understand anyway. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

Simon blinked at him, working his jaw for a reply. He probably should, now that he had a grip on his life again, now that he wasn’t an emotional unstable mess distracted by the smell of blood anymore. If only for closure. Or maybe they could work things out again. While his life had been one insane roller coaster ride, he would be lying if he didn’t sometimes think about the band, about her. After all, she had been his best friend next to Clary.

“Yeah, I will,” he decided. “Meet her. She deserves an explanation face to face. Well… if she even wants that.”

“Just remember,” Raphael started, and Simon thought he was going to get the whole ‘don’t mention you’re a vampire’-spiel, but instead was surprised by the following words. “Whatever happened between you,” – something told him, Raphael had an inkling of what that was – “you weren’t yourself. It wasn’t all your fault.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged, swallowing hard around a knot in his throat, “doesn’t make it easier, though.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Raphael agreed. After a moment of silence, he reached out for Simon’s shoulder, steering him in the direction they had been going before. “Let’s get going, before Magnus sends his search dog for you.”

“I’m going to tell Alec!” Simon declared, but only got a nonchalant shrug in reply as they continued on their way.

Magnus apartment had always been heavily warded, making it appear eerily abandoned from the outside. However Simon knew how warm the interior actually was, fitting for its owner, or by now, owners.

It meant Simon did not sense the buzzing from the inside until the doors opened and a large group of people greeted him yelling ‘Happy birthday, Simon’ in varying degrees of excitement, lifting drinks at him. As Simon’s brain decided to shut down in utter surprise, Raphael guided him on the shoulders inside the apartment. 

“Told you. Telenovela,” he whispered under his breath.

That rebooted his brain and Simon turned to stare at him flabbergast. “You _knew_?”

“Go celebrate,” Raphael replied, nudging him in the side and making Simon aware of how rude he had acted to his friends. Head snapping around again, he took in the scene before him. Clary and Luke where in the middle of the room, behind them the rest of what he considered his little circle of family and friends, vampires, Shadowhunters, werewolves mingling together.

“Seriously guys?” Simon shouted almost accusingly, pointing his finger at Clary. “You said you had training!”

“Deceit is sort of part of Shadowhunter training,” she replied without an ounce of guilt. “Undercover work?”

“And you Mister ‘I’ve been working the grave yard shift for five days now’ Policeman!”

Luke lifted his shoulders with a wide smile before taking a sip of his drink.

Simon was a fucking grown-up, but seeing this reduced him to a sentimental wreck. Still, he was not going to shed a tear, because it would just look ugly, especially since his tears were bloody now. Clearing his throat, feeling Raphael’s presence shift behind him slightly as he moved closer, standing almost next to him, he finally said: “Thank you. Honestly. Everyone. I didn’t expect that.”

He felt almost shy with all eyes on him. Thankfully, Magnus saved him, snipping his fingers to get everyone’s attention with a rain of glitter over Simon’s and by proxy Raphael’s head. “Now that the guest of honor is _finally_ here, let this party begin.”

Simon ignored the outcry behind him and decided to flee right into the group of his friends, leaving Raphael to his murderous aura because _glitter._ On his _leather jacket_. The only way to get rid of that pesky stuff was magic or fire and Simon didn’t want to be around the other when he decided that fire was better than asking Magnus for help.

Hands down, best birthday party Simon ever had. Which was kind of a given considering he was celebrating it at Magnus Bane’s apartment with an assortment of different Downworlders, most people he had met barely a year ago but had grown on him so much through all sorts of escapades.

Even Alec left his room for ten minutes to exchange a few sentences with him. Full sentences, not single-word replies. That was huge. At least for them. Simon still thought Alec barely tolerated him. Bernice presented him with a drink, hugging him and pressing a kiss to his cheek, as Clary revealed a huge painting – and it finally dawned on Simon, that this was the project she had been busy with.

It showed the main characters of the comic Clary and Simon had been working on before the whole Shadowhunter debacle forced its way into their life. When everything had been different. It felt like a lifetime ago.

The painting was a reminder as well as a farewell. The comic something he was happy to look back on, knowing that those times were never coming back again and that they both had come to terms with that. It wasn’t just the comic they were giving up on, though.

The characters were definitely drawn by Clary in her uniquely clean scratch style, while the background must have been Bernice’s work, painted in bright, blurred watercolors. Their different styles should clash, but they had made it work.

“Something for your wall. Can’t only have Doctor Who posters on there,” Bernice said with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Can’t ever have enough Doctor Who,” Simon defended his choice in decor, already pondering which Tardis poster had to go for the place this piece of art definitely deserved.

After that Simon mingled with the crowd, but had never been good at the whole host-shebang. He honestly had no idea how Magnus so flawlessly moved from one group to the next, making sure everyone had what they needed and also keeping up with conversations. Simon was happy enough he was able to keep track of who he had not yet talked to, never mind remembering what they had talked about. Part of him was extremely jealous of Magnus. Another borderline comforted that he wasn’t only bad with large groups of strangers but also apparently with large groups of people _he knew_.

An hour of fun albeit slightly chaotic attempts to imitate Magnus extroverted host-nature later, Derek pulled Simon away from Izzy and Eugene to a corner that had previously been hidden by whatever magic Magnus must have used.

Simon almost squealed, when he saw the different instruments, albeit slightly confused. Then Derek sat down behind the drums with a mischievous grin. At that, Simon openly stared at him, until someone gave him a shove from behind and he finally stumbled over to pick up the bass.

“We’re doing this?” he asked, tense. “Seriously? Without practice?”

“Just trust me,” Derek said confidently. “‘I like van Halen’?”

“Have I died and gone to heaven?”

“Half right,” Jace called from the audience.

“Tact much?” Simon glared at him without any heat, and let it slide at Jace's very much unapologetic shrug.

Even though Simon’s nerves were having a field day, his excitement eventually won out. He had been aching to play with someone else since forever. After a few seconds he started to play the beginning of one of his favorite bass songs, stupidly happy that Derek had listened to the songs Simon had forced on him and even took the time to learn at least one of them – whenever that sucker had done that because Simon had never heard him practice and there was absolutely no way to do that quietly.

When Simon had found out how good Derek was, he had tried to pester him several times into forming a band with him, tried to coax and woo him with offerings of songs from bands like El Ten Eleven, Royal Blood and Death From Above. Derek had always brushed him off, telling him that he had lost all interest in drums.

Now he wanted to play with him. In front of their friends.

Simon was vibrating with excitement, his tight lipped shaky grin and bouncing giving it away even to the people who didn’t share a bond with him.

Derek was amazing on the drums, Simon knew that, but he had never known how much fun it was going to be, how easy it was to play in sync with him. They had never practiced together but it hadn’t been long ago that Simon had played that song, so while they were bound to make some mistakes, it was neglectable.

Whooping calls followed the song. Encouraged, Simon started playing the tune to ‘Seven Nation Army’ with a provocative smile. Reading the prompt correctly, Derek followed suite. They turned it into a game, playing known songs like ‘Fools in the rain’ and expecting the other to follow or come up with something until they eventually switched to improvised tunes.

Simon knew they were showing off. Derek especially, twirling his sticks, flirting with every single person in the room, giving Simon a run for his money and playing like he was the next John Bonham.

It felt incredible, having someone that talented at his side, whom he also felt comfortable enough with to not get nervous about messing up. Right that moment, he was in his element, surrounded by friends who cheered them on, neither cared nor noticed when one of them was getting something wrong. This was simply for having a good time, not a performance that had to be perfect, that didn’t allow for any spontaneity.

He didn’t know how long they were playing. Long enough for Arya to get pleasantly tipsy, going for the mic that had been ignored and demanding them to play ‘Raise your Glass’. He looked over to Derek with raised eyebrows.

Simon had learned that song ages ago but he never got that much into it and therefore his confidence was almost none-existent. The drummer however looked chill as rain, so he shrugged and went for the guitar, hoping the drums were going to carry the song, while he was going to try his best and stitch together what little he remembered.

A few seconds in, Simon was already ranking this performance close to the top ten of best things that had ever happened in his life. 

Not because they were great, no way. The song was a disaster. Arya had apparently made it her mission to slaughter every note with her expected off-key but passionate singing. Simon almost died laughing, barely holding the strings down for a clean sound, while Derek unashamedly powered through like they weren’t in the middle of butchering the poor song, throwing some extra cymbals in because why the hell not?

No, what made it unforgettable was how everyone in the room who did or especially did _not_ know the lyrics joined the vocals, hummed the melody in support or clapped along. Also, Simon was sure there was a beatboxer among them and he was so going to find out who it was before the night was over.

“Refrain again,” Arya spurned everyone on. Simon shook his head in amusement, let his eyes stray until he found Raphael talking to an ecstatic Magnus. Part of him had expected Raphael to walk out of the room as soon as the chaos had broken lose, fed up with everyone’s antics. However he appeared perfectly relaxed, nodding at what Magnus was telling him, before pulling a face, then rolling his eyes, the expression turning into a pleased smile a moment later. However, he must have noticed someone staring and turned his head around, his eyes finding Simon with an ease that made a knot swell in his chest. Simon averted his eyes, concentrating on his playing to get it right at least for the finish.

“One, two, three,” Arya yelled the countdown. At her three, the room exploded in a chorus of unsynchronized singing. The line 'wrong in all the right ways' sung with a passion born from experience. Arya did good in picking this song. While the beginning of the refrain had been pretty decent, as soon as they reached the line ‘We will never, never be anything but loud’ it turned more into a shouting match. The whole thing was insanely bad but powerful.

As far as live performances went, this was by far the worst he had ever played and the most fun he ever had. If it weren’t for the wards, there was no doubt that all of Brooklyn would have heard them belching out the refrain with unrivaled enthusiasm. It was still with an unanimous consensus that they paused the show at that, everyone needing some time to digest that vicious murder. Who knew Pink had the ability to bring Downworlders together.

Pleased with herself, Arya swaggered over to Bernice and pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. Simon in the meantime walked over to Derek, who was still sitting behind the drums, stared at him for a moment, and then unceremoniously dropped down on one knee.

“I know this is very forward, and I don’t have a ring on me,” Simon began, biting his cheek to refrain from laughing at the other’s appalled expression. “Derek—” He stopped, furrowing his brow before he threw a contemplating look around. “Shit, what’s his surname again?”

Through the laughter, Raphael’s voice replied “Derek Barnaby Haynes.”

“Barnaby?” Simon repeated, choking on a laugh.

“Fuck you, Santiago!” Derek cursed, annoyed. “My full name? Did you really have to give him that kind of ammunition?”

Raphael blinked innocently with the face of an angle, as if he could do no wrong, when in truth he was the devil and everyone in the room knew that.

“Okay, alright,” Simon started again, catching himself and trying to school his expression back to undiluted sincerity. Probably failing. “Derek _Barnaby_ ”, Derek groaned, “Haynes, from the day I first heard you play I knew we were made for each other. Will you be my band partner for the rest of our undead lives? I don’t even insist on naming our band-child ‘Blood Orange’. Please say yes. You know I’m not above begging.”

“Oh for fucks sake, Lewis,” Derek growled, rolling his eyes and his whole head with them. “Don’t you have _any_ shame?”

“Abandoned with manners and empathy.”

The drummer eyed him for a long time, ignoring everyone trying to encourage him into agreeing. Bernice even going so far as acting like a street vendor selling cheap trinkets, high-lightening his few but endearing good points.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Derek gave in. “But only if Arya is our vocalist.”

Arya’s excited “Yes!” drowned out everyone else’s pained groaning. Before Simon could even react with a squeal of his own, she was already at their side and pulled them in a loose hug over the drums.

“Oh God, you’re not practicing in the hotel,” Daniel said seriously, looking marginally paler than usual, his words followed by agreeing murmur from other vampires in the room. Arya stuck her tongue out at him.

“I think we have another performance,” Magnus declared abruptly.

“No, we don’t,” Raphael hissed.

“Fiddlesticks.”

Simon cracked a smile when he saw Raphael wrangled in an one-armed hug by the warlock, stiff and dead-still, even while Magnus relentlessly dragged him over to the upright piano at the side, sitting him down onto the stool.

Raphael huffed in annoyance, making a point at how unhappy he was with the whole situation. Simon stared at them in bewilderment. “Wait. What’s happening? Does Raphael know how to play the piano?”

Magnus mustered him with wry amusement.

“What. No way!”

Raphael ignored them, looked at the piano thoughtfully for a moment, before he placed his fingers on the keys with a dramatic flourish that suggested he was going to play Liszt’s ‘La Campanella’ or Beethoven’s ‘Hammerklavier’. What followed was a string of loosely connected notes that took all of Simon’s imagination to pin together as ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’.

“Oh God,” he exclaimed, internally thanking Raphael for the time he had spent teaching him to say that word again because there was nothing else that could accurately communicate his feelings, when he heard that awkward play of one of the first songs piano students learned. Raphael was missing keys or pressing the wrong ones, his face straight but forehead wrinkled in deep concentration, which made the whole thing rather cute but also so, so wrong.

There was a minute of unresolved tension in the room, because this was _Raphael Santiago_ , proud interim clan leader of the Manhattan vampire clan, failing to play a children’s song on the piano. Simon’s lips quivered under the force it took him to bite back a laugh at the absurdity, until Raphael apparently took pity on them. At least that was what Simon thought because the bad playing switched neatly into a clean and more complex version of ‘Happy Birthday’.

Simon barked out a laugh in surprise as the tension flew straight out of the room with that, realizing that Raphael had been messing around just to be an ass. Most likely to annoy Magnus, who kept glaring at him disapprovingly, arms crossed in front of his chest and one foot tapping on the floor. Without stopping, Raphael rolled his eyes at him, muttered what was most likely an insult in Spanish.

What followed was nothing Simon would have expected even after he had already suspected Raphael hiding whatever he was capable off. But fuck him, Raphael was playing ‘The Entertainer’ flawlessly with an expression like this was just another boring Tuesday for him. Their eyes met when Raphael was playing the running octaves and his expression morphed into a smirk, making Simon acutely aware of two things. One, the song was a stab at Derek and him being total show-offs and two, Raphael was pretty damn good. While the song wasn’t the most difficult piece ever written it was one of Joplin’s and that meant it was _tricky_.

Everyone stared at the clan leader in varying degrees of awe when he finished playing, giving Magnus a ‘Happy now?’ look. Simon quickly collected himself to point an accusing finger at the other man. “You,” he growled, annoyed with the hitch in his voice, “You know how to play piano!”

“A little,” Raphael offered sarcastically.

“And not _once_ did it occure to you to let me know, even _after_ I asked you if you knew anyone in the clan who played instruments?”

Raphael didn't answer, was already in the motion of getting up, when Simon continued unperturbed, “Nope. Sit down. We’re doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“A battle.”

“A battle,” Raphael repeated toneless. “You play the piano, too?”

The hint of astonishment in the voice might have been wishful thinking on Simon’s part but he took it anyway. “I did, but I was crap at it. No, no, you play piano.”

Raphael looked confused, before relaxing on the stool, unwinding his shoulders and intrigue finding its way in his expression. “What’s the stake?”

“If I win: you, me, music room, once a week.”

Jace made kissing noises. Simon was tempted to throw something at him, but Clary already whacked him over the shoulder. She was a good friend.

“What do I get?” Raphael asked, amused.

Simon faltered in his stance, as he thought about something Raphael could want from _him_. “I’ll… uh… do the inventory? Without a single complaint! None whatsoever. And you know that’s the most fun part for me, the complaining.”

“Deal,” Raphael replied, his tone indicating that he was only humoring Simon on his whim because it was his birthday and he didn’t have anything better to do right now anyway. Simon wondered when he had gotten so good at differentiating the nuances in the other’s voice, before figuring that most of it was most likely projecting.

“You play ‘Für Elise’?” The piece was a sure bet. ‘The Entertainer’ was only a bit harder and from his posture it looked like Raphael had taken piano lessons, so he probably had to learn that song at some point. From his response, probably more often than he liked. 

“Really?” Raphael rolled his eyes, voice laced with disgust. “Might as well ask for 'Flight of the Bumblebee'. I can play it really fast.” Simon squinted at him, knew there was a diss in his words when he said the last sentence with more enthusiams than he had ever used before, mixed with equal parts sarcasm. “Or how about Pachelbel's Canon in D?”

“Hey, don't hate on me!” Simon said, slightly proud that he knew the last piece from watching NGE. “I'm not very good with classical music.”

“Obviously. And yes, I know how to play,” he clicked his tongue, “‘Für Elise’.” Words accompanied with a ‘Bitch, please’ expression that was completely uncalled for. Approximately ten minutes ago, Simon hadn’t even been aware of his talent at all!

His brain was still busy processing that.

“I honestly can’t believe you,” Simon muttered under his breath to everyone’s amusement as he picked the bass up again, sitting down on a chair. ‘Für Elise’ had been his final project for music class and while it had been super fun to learn it also made him internally cringe remembering how much he had wrecked his hand practicing the song back then.

However, it had been worth it, not only for how he had wiped his teacher’s stupid grin off her face when he performed it for her, sure as she had been that his project was going to fail, but also for now, for this moment, when he was looking Raphael straight in the eyes, for the first time feeling equal to him in something they shared. Well, almost.

With a grin, Simon played the first lines on the bass, then stopped and inclined his head at Raphael. The other vampire stared at him, eventually got the hint and, only using the right hand, continued where Simon had left off, his pace matched to the slow one Simon had set. Raphael was giving him a handicap that Simon didn’t need and he hoped his glare conveyed the sentiment. Just like Simon, Raphael stopped at a random part wherethe other picked it up again.

Somewhere along their instruments came together with Simon picking up speed and Raphael matching him, adding the left hand part to his playing as well.

There was probably no way to tell who was playing better, bass and piano too different to be compared, but Simon didn’t care about winning or losing anyway, had just thrown that in to scratch at Raphael’s pride, appealing to his ambition and luring him into playing with him. There was no doubt that the other wasn’t aware of that, but still decided to ignore it and went with the childish challenge.

It made Simon laugh and he would swear on his death bed and on all the children he was never going to have, that he heard Raphael laugh too. Luckily, they weren’t the only one’s having a good time. Even Alec came out of hiding to watch their performance.

Short as the piece was, and as much as they had stretched it out, it was over pretty quickly. Still the room roared with applause.

After a playful back and forth between Magnus and Clary about how to figure out who had won, the party resumed with Alec declaring a tie that everyone accepted without further protest. Music was provided from Magnus’ stereo and the only live singing was from whoever decided to sing along with whatever song was playing.

At once, Maia was at his side, boxing him playfully in the shoulder, telling him how amazing he had been and then pulling him in a hug when he tried to stammer a ‘thank you’ through his embarrassment.

It was around this time that he realized that apart from the vampires, most of the guests hadn’t known about him playing the bass, or only in theory from when he had been talking about it. They had never heard or seen him play, which might explain some of the awestruck stares he continued to receive.

Even Magnus had some compliments for him that made Simon want to hide under a table from all the attention he was suddenly getting. So he tried to divert it to Derek, who was happily basking in it and Raphael, who appeared to have vanished as soon as their performance was over. Pushing the vague sense of disappointment away, Simon zoomed back into the discussion Jace was having with Maia, while Magnus was waxing poetic regarding Raphael’s piano skills like only a father would. As if he had personally taught him.

It occurred to Simon a few minutes later, that Raphael had probably returned to the hotel. The hint being Lily showing up and throwing her arms around his neck, saving him from Magnus’ verbal fit of parental pride. “Happy birthday, baby. I’m so fucking proud of you,” she said earnestly. “Just don’t get used to birthday parties.”

Simon laughed, hugged her back before they parted. “Never!”

“She means it,” Victoria, who appeared at his elbow in a flash commented. “We, like usually only have them every five years.”

“But hey, first birthday with the clan has to be celebrated!” Arya threw in, pushing a glass of blood and something else in Simon’s hand with a smile. “We even made you a real banner. With your name and shit.”

“Clary insisted,” Bernice said.

“Of course I did!”

“That’s special?” Simon asked, taking the glass and nipping on the drink, grimacing at the vague taste. Whatever was mixed in this drink tasted distinctly like oregano and made his tongue tingle.

“It sure is,” Victoria replied. “We usually have a banner up that says ‘Happy blank space Birthday’.”

“You can add the numbers like on those old score boards,” Bernice explained at Simon’s confused expression.

“It’s with triple-digits!” Arya added, like it was the best invention since light bulbs.

Simon shock his head, then returned his attention back to Lily, who had patiently watched their interaction with an amused expression. As he quirked his eyebrows at her in question, she simply reached out, one hand squeezing his shoulder as she leaned forward. “Glad you didn’t make me regret letting you back,” she said, low under her breath, warmth and happiness in her voice before she left to get a drink for herself.

Simon swallowed, watching everyone talking and mingling and generally having fun, snickering when he spotted Alec and Tamara, Daniel’s shy werewolf girlfriend, standing next to each other, avoiding eye contact while making stilted small talk.

He was glad too, he thought, that they had let him come back, wondered for a brief moment where he would be if they hadn’t, what mess he would have undoubtedly gotten himself in, then decided to push those thoughts away.

“Bad start, awesome everything after, I’d say,” Clary said happily, a deep blush on her cheeks as she appeared next to him, bumping their shoulders together, all smiles and dimples.

“What are you talking about?” Simon exclaimed, almost scandalized. “Everything has been great!”

“For you maybe, you truant,” she accused, but the amused twinkle in her eyes betrayed her fondness.

“Hey, birthday boy! I’m what counts today!”

“Oh? Tell that to poor Arya, who almost had a heart attack when she couldn’t find you in the hotel and you didn’t pick up your phone.”

“Vampire’s don’t get heart attacks. Heart’s dead,” Simon replied, snickering when he caught Clary’s offended look.

“I mean, seriously,” Arya abruptly said, interrupting her conversation with Victoria and Bernice in favor of glaring at Simon. “I _asked_ you what you were going to do tonight and you said you were busy with accounting.”

“That was before my mother called me!”

“What does your mother—” Clary started, then stopped abruptly. “Wait. Are you telling me you forgot?”

“Guilty,” Simon admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “She asked me to come over on the weekend, saying she was preparing something for me and then I saw the date.”

“Oh, that’s why you suddenly started to ask everyone out,” Bernice concluded.

“Yes, and you all told me you were busy! I was beginning to think I had to spent my day following Elliott around.”

“Hey, what’s so bad about that?” Elliott called from across the room, where he was trying to flirt with an oblivious Luke, who probably thought that the weird vampire with the dreads was unusally affectionate.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.” That seemed to placate Elliott enough, or he just decided that getting into Luke’s pants was more important.

“Damn. That’s why you were out with Raphael. If we’d known, we’d have included him in our plans.” Bernice dragged one arm over his shoulder, almost hanging off his body.

“Huh?” Simon said stupidly. “He didn’t know?”

“Pretty sure he knew _something_ , because, you know, he’s Raphael, but no, we didn’t really talk to him about it. He’s not big on all this,” her hands waved at everything. “Surprised he stayed as long as he did. Even gave us a little show.” The smile she gave him was all teeth, as she poked him in the shoulder.

“Did _you_ know he plays piano?” Because Bernice knew _everything_ about _anyone_. Simon was sure she knew secrets about himself that even Simon didn’t know.

Bernice chuckled. “I didn’t.”

“I did,” Alec said, earning himself incredulous stares from everyone following the conversation. “What? It’s not a secret. When he’s coming over, he’s usually playing in the music room.”

Simon’s mouth fell open. “Why doesn’t he play in the hotel?”

“Beats me,” Alec replied with a shrug, shuffling out of their conversation the same way he had entered it.

“He’s not the only one who hides his talents, baby,” Bernice said, placatingly. “See, Julliard for example can play the cello.”

“He what?”

“Bernice, seriously, why are you telling him that?” The French vampire shouted, immediately glaring at Simon. “Don’t even think about it,” he added before Simon could even open his mouth. “My parents forced me to play for fifteen years and I hated every single one of them. After I got turned I set the blasted thing on fire. I never want to see those things ever again.”

That were a lot of emotion and trauma to unpack in those words, Simon thought, blinking at Julliard, who decided he had made his point and returned his attention back to Charles.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew there had to be _someone_ playing _something_ with all the instruments in the room.”

“Don’t pout, little fledgling,” Bernice cooed like he was a child throwing a tantrum, pulling him along and down on a couch. Clary followed to sit next to him on the other side. “But to be fair, most of them belong to Camille.”

Now that was something Simon never expected to hear.

“No mentioning of Camille, please,” Clary mumbled, earning an amused look from Bernice.

“Well, anyway. This had been a surprise in more than one way,” Simon said apropos of nothing with a dopey smile. “A surprise party. Surprise concert. Surprise talents. Color me surprised. Completely.”

Clary beamed at him, then moved to lean her head against his shoulder, red hair spilling over his jacket. He mirrored the gesture, chin resting on top of her head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this close to her, relaxed and happy, without a nervous drum under his skin, a buzzing in his head or jealousy nagging at his every fiber.

Bernice on his other side pulled her legs up, leaning against the arm rest, watching everyone with measuring eyes, probably just waiting for any kind of information to filter away for later use, curious thing that she was.

Arya draped her elbows over the backrest of the couch, one hand absentmindedly brushing Bernice’s hair, humming along to the song from the stereo, amused eyes on Derek who was suspiciously eyeing Magnus as the warlock was talking about the correct handling of staff weapons. Even Simon was uncertain if the innuendos were intentional or not, but he decided he didn’t care. Derek’s expression was pure gold.

As rowdy as the bunch was, the evening was peaceful.

The night went on with dancing, talking and drinking, Jace trying himself on the guitar under Simon’s guidance, cocky confidence until he realized that pressing some strings and strumming wasn’t all there was to playing the instrument, quick to blame the alcohol in his system for his ineptitude. Simon bit his lip and refrained from giving an opinion of his own.

Derek, ever the darling, wasn’t as shy with his comments about how much work actually went into playing any kind of instrument. Before a fight could break out, Clary distracted Jace with something shiny and Simon Derek with a question regarding training of pectorals. Clary and Simon gave themselves thumbs-ups for outstanding team work.

After some insistent questioning it turned out that _Tamara_ had been the one beatboxing, blushing furiously and hiding behind Daniel when Simon asked her if she could do it again. It took her a few minutes to muster the courage, but when she did, she was a force of nature. Simon was in awe, and if he hadn’t already approved of the relationship he would have been totally sold after that. Sure, he had no idea what the hell she was doing with her voice but it sounded incredible.

The group thinned out in the early morning, Magnus creating a portal for the vampires to the Dumort, which they gladly accepted with one glance at the brightening sky. Simon thanked everyone for the good time, hugged whoever let him, said his goodbyes and then vanished with the rest of the vampires through the portal.

He was dead tired, but his body was still brimming with excitement as he stumbled into his room, barely avoiding a thick folder on his bed as he fell head first into his mattress. Surprised, he pulled the folder closer, flipped it open to find dozens of sheet music, classical, romantic, contemporary and at the back even pieces from recent years.

Simon really hoped Raphael didn’t expect him to learn them all.

On bass.

Chuckling to himself, he closed the folder and put it on his night stand, too tired to think about that for now.

There was no way in hell that Simon was going to spend the weekend with his mother. Absolutely no freaking way. Not because he didn’t want to, no, he was sure they deserved some decent mother-son time but there was no way Simon could hide his allergic reaction to the sun and telling her she had to close all her blinds would have resulted in an inquisition of the very, very bad kind.

So, after a few hours of sleep following his surprise birthday party, Simon woke up to call his mother and ask her, if he could come by that very evening, maybe even bring Clary and Luke along if that was okay with her. Both of them had offered to help him keep his cover when he told them about the predicament with his mother.

She agreed happily, hanging up on him with her head already in the planing phase, murmuring about ingredients and the nice silverware, completely ignoring Simon telling her she didn’t need to do anything extravagant. The tooting of the line was the only reply he got.

A few hours later, he was standing in front of his house, Clary giving him reassuring looks and Luke steeling himself for whatever he was expecting. His mother had always gotten along well with the Fairchild’s and that included Luke. He was used to lying to her, to hide what he was. As a werewolf, hiding his constitution was easy. Hiding what Simon had become probably not as easy.

His mother was warm as always in her greeting, hugging Simon for a long time, fussing over his body temperature and pale looks and ushering them inside. With the lack of forewarning she luckily didn’t have the time to prepare the feast that was common for birthdays in the Lewis household but she still managed to bake a chocolate cake and prepare a spinach lasagna.

Clary and Luke did an amazing job stealing the food off his plate without his mother noticing, keeping her engaged with questions about what she was doing at the moment, while Simon tried to suppress his guilt at never being home enough, never calling her enough, lying to her face all the time, trying to tell himself that it was necessary to protect her.

He stopped believing _that_ half an hour into his visit.

And that was what it had become. A visit. This wasn’t his home anymore, this was were his mother lived. In the past year he had become a guest. That revelation was as weird as it was comforting, because it meant the hotel _had_ become home.

Less than a year ago he had scoffed at that notion. He had spat in Raphael’s face that the Dumort was never going to be home, had flung him against a truck for emphasize and later had almost cried when Clary left him alone in the hotel, Raphael greeting him with a smug ‘Welcome home’. It used to be a dreaded memory, something he wanted to forget. Now he just felt annoyed at his former self.

The evening went better than expected, Simon had to admit, with Clary and Luke acting as a buffer, quickly keeping up with every lie, making up new ones on the spot that left Simon wishing for a notepad because how was he supposed to remember all that shit?

Simon had never been a good liar, even after becoming a vampire, when blushing and sweating had become a non-issue.

When Simon left, it was with three Tupperware container full of lasagna, two filled with cake and a brand new set of lies including guilt as deep as the Mariana trench as a side dish. He hoped his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt, hoped his mother didn’t notice how he stopped meeting her eyes, how he didn’t linger in her arms, how he had to keep himself from bolting.

He did, though. As soon as they were far enough from the house that his mom stopped following them with her eyes and closed the door, Simon pushed the food into Luke’s arms, thanked them for their help and fled back to the Dumort.

Simon honestly didn’t know how long he could keep this act up with his mother.

Let alone how long he wanted to.

* * *

Songs:

[I love van Halen Because My Sister Says They Are Cool](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fD2xS91Mi84) \- El Ten Eleven

[Fools in the Rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I57nIP0vc44) \- Led Zeppelin

[The Entertainer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g8syRhvSZdk) \- Scott Joplin

[Für Elise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMrSDQfMWeQ) \- Bass version

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other one who forgot his birthday was me, by the way. Wrote this chapter from scratch this week even with university trying to sabotage it at every corner!


	9. Decisions As I Go, To Anywhere I Flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have The Talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly considered just burying this somewhere and never bringing it up again but that's so immature. So here, have them have the talk that you've seen a dozen times in this fandom as it's the key element to every Saphael story. I've rewritten this a million times. It started of all dramatic and then went all underwhelming and then I switched the parts they said to each other around and somewhere along the way I got really confused. 
> 
> I also had trouble aligning the show with the books.
> 
> So, good luck! Don't blink.

Simon regained consciousness, tired and hungry. Blinking the blinding pain away as he strained to look around. Lily was a few feet away from him, pulling Elliott and Derek to their feet and checking for injuries. Arya, crouched on her haunches, stared apathetically at the blood red concrete floor littered with dead bodies. There was so much blood and the smell of it only fueled his hunger, twisting his insides.

Turning to the other side he spotted Alec treating a minor scratch on Izzy’s arm. Jace stood next to them, frowning at something to his right. When he followed his glare, he saw Clary approaching Raphael. Everything was oddly silent, a white noise buzzing constantly in his ears. Clary’s mouth was wide open, as if she were screaming but her words only came to him through cotton.

Raphael looked exhausted, didn’t even move away when Clary shoved against his shoulder. His expression remained as unimpressed as ever, but his hands balled into fists at his side. The other vampire rarely gave in to anger and snapped back, but he was about to. Simon knew from the way he was holding himself, lack of restraint born from his own fatigue after fighting against Forsaken for the most part of the night.

Right.

That’s what they had been doing.

The memories came back at a crawling pace. Clary asking for help with rogue vampires and feeding dens. Raphael voicing concern regarding the credibility of the source, as he hadn’t been aware of any such on-goings. The Shadowhunters insisting the evidence was adding up with prior investigations.

Raphael hadn’t been happy, but it was vampire business, so he agreed grudgingly. They weren’t expecting anything to come out of it.

The intel had been wrong.

It was a trap and they were lured right into it, had been fighting Forsaken for what felt like an eternity. At some point Simon had lost consciousness after trying to jumping in and help Elliott, but in his moment of negligence a heavy weight threw itself at him from behind and pushed him to the ground. Great. This had only been the second mission he had been allowed to tag along and he already screwed up.

They must have moved him from the floor because he was laying on something elevated, a table he thought, feeling the smooth texture of polished wood under his fingers. Simon continued to stare at Clary, still yelling at Raphael. Whatever her problem was, he was sure it could wait, decided that it had to wait, because otherwise something bad was going to happen.

“Clary?” he called, or tried to. It came out as a gurgle, but she heard, head whipping around abruptly. She promptly hurried over.

“It’s fine, Simon. Don’t speak. You’re still healing.” Her voice was clearer now, but not because she was closer. He felt the familiar blunt stinging of flesh mending, dull thudding of something clicking back into its shape, the pressure easing on his ears, senses slowly returning. Speaking still hurt and his lungs were filled with blood, so he moved to rest on his side to cough it out.

Luckily, as it appeared, he was the only one seriously hurt. It showed how bad a fighter he was and how he really should learn his fucking place and stop running head first into danger. When he felt his vocal cords slowly reconnecting, he tried again. “Are we done?”

Arya appeared at his side, her hand gently combing through his hair. “Yeah, baby, we can go home now.” Clary’s face switched from worry to fondness and gratitude as she met her eyes. Arya returned the expression in kind. Something felt off, but Simon couldn’t put his finger on it. Wasn’t really the time to ponder whatever it was anyway, he thought as sleep tore at his conscience.

He woke up again to the blurred silhouette of Raphael feeding him blood.

That was when it hit him.

The vampires and his friends had grown on Clary over the last few months. She had even worked on a project with Bernice for his birthday. Clary accepted and embraced them completely, had even stopped wrinkling her nose at their drinking blood habit. He had seen her talking to a lot of clan members he hadn’t introduced when they were celebrating his birthday, joking around, being friendly and completely at ease. Not Raphael. She ignored him if she could, or treated him like a verbal punching bag, spoke harshly about him and usually doubted every good thing Simon mentioned. Whenever something went wrong she was going off like a fire cracker, as if it was somehow his fault.

Simon had used to chalk her behavior up to her general dislike for vampires with a pinch of bad history with Raphael. But it wasn’t vampires in general anymore, she simply had an problem with Raphael.

“Sleep, Simon,” Raphael ordered with a calm voice, frowning down at him.

Simon, exhausting himself just trying to bring the other man’s face into focus, followed the command without complain.

The next time Simon woke up, he actually registered where he was. In Raphael’s room. Precisely on Raphael’s bed. Which struck him as odd but not really all that weird, until he noticed the blood on the sheets. Presumably Simon’s blood. Raphael must have completely been worn-out if he allowed Simon to sleep there as dirty and bloody as he was.

Simon was afraid that Raphael was going to kill him for daring to bleed on his fucking sheets as soon as his brain was functioning enough to catch up with the magnitude of that decision. In some regards, Raphael was a neat-freak bordering on obsessive. Whenever Simon needed something from his office desk he’d always go through great lengths to remember where exactly he had taken it from, occasionally going so far as using replacements as place holders. And those were only his working utensils. He was worse with the clothes. Simon didn’t even want to find out how Raphael felt about his _bed_.

“Stop freaking out and go back to sleep,” a strangely gruff voice told him. His eyes flickered over to Raphael, who was lying on the other side of the bed, atop the comforter, face turned towards the wall with his back to Simon, almost curled into fetus position.

“Just wondering what’s going to happen when you realize there’s blood on your expensive satin sheets.”

“There’s _blood_?”

Simon stiffened instantly at the higher than usual tone, already contemplating fleeing the bedroom, hotel and preferably country, when a hand blindly reached back and fumbled to pat his hip. Then he registered a low chuckle.

“Relax, it’s not just yours,” Raphael said with a teasing undertone. Simon pouted but relaxed until he repeated the words in his head and immediately snapped back to attention. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine. Just sleep.”

One glance at the clock revealed that it was early noon. Not necessarily a time he was still asleep but Simon still felt incredibly tired. With a huff he wiggled deeper into the sheets and pillows, tugged at the blanket to pull it over his shoulder and, ignoring the absurdity of the situation and the fact that he was in Raphael’s bed, quickly fell back into the comfort of a dreamless sleep.

Raphael was not fine. In fact, Raphael was dying. Well not _dying_. He wasn’t healing. Turned out he had gotten himself injured during the fight with the Forsaken, which wasn’t really the problem. The problem was, that he let everyone believe the blood on his clothes was from the Forsaken and hid the fact, that during the fight he had come into contact with something that stunted his healing effect, resulting in a large, gaping wound in his stomach not closing up.

In short, the problem was that Raphael was a fucking idiot.

Instead of looking after himself, he took care of Simon first and then used Simon as a means to muddle the scent in his room and keep the rest of the clan off his back, while he tried to figure out what to do with the innards spilling out. Simon had been blissfully unaware of that neat little information, drifting in and out of sleep for the better part of the day, until his body felt refreshed enough and he decided it was time to leave Raphael’s bed and room before he overstayed his welcome and things got awkward.

However, he found all that out after he realized that Raphael hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed _at all_ ever since the first time they had talked. Worried, he had walked around the bed, ignoring the other’s protest. The shirt Raphael was wearing was soaked and whatever amount of blood he had been drinking to keep his basic blood level up probably went straight into the cloth. When he realized that he wouldn’t get rid of Simon after that, he finally explained what happened, stressing that Simon was supposed to keep this a secret.

Simon told Lily less than two minutes later.

She yelled at Raphael for an hour straight. Simon used every break in Lily’s diatribe to throw insults like ‘idiot’ and ‘fucking idiot’ in for good measure. It earned him a heated glare from Raphael, but at that point he was both too immune and overly pissed at being used as an excuse for glacial suicide to care.

In the meantime, Magnus was muttering under his breath from the couch where he had parked himself about five minutes after Simon had told Lily, which was approximately two minutes after Simon had called him.

It wasn’t that Simon didn’t know how to keep a secret. He did. When it wasn’t completely stupid. Magnus continued to chide Raphael like a five year old, while he brew the antidote. Funnily enough, he _actually_ managed to reduce Raphael into pouting like one. Simon was blaming the immense pain the other undoubtedly suffered from and tried not to hold the petulant behavior against him. Or feel any sort of sympathy, because Raphael was stupid and he deserved that pain.

No, he didn’t.

He really, really didn’t.

Simon was simply frustrated that Raphael had pulled a Winchester on him. And that it had taken him so long to realize something was wrong. And that he sucked at fighting. And that the wound was from Raphael rushing to help him, when he had been taken down. At least that’s what Lily assumed. Simon hadn’t been awake to witness that particularly asinine heroic act. But then again, he got himself injured trying to do something similar while utterly failing, so he shouldn’t throw stones.

Raphael was annoyed with the three of them bustling around, voicing his disapproval in quiet, aggressive hisses and muttered Spanish. Simon thought Raphael should shut his fucking face, considering Simon had just gotten more intimate with the contents of his guts – and look at that, he still had his appendix! – than was common courtesy in every culture on the planet, Downworlder culture included, when he had been forced to catch the colon falling out once Raphael lifted his shirt to show the damage.

The healing started almost immediately after Magnus administered the antidote, the warlock declaring in a grievous voice that while he was indeed able to remedy the effects of what had gotten into the blood stream, there was nothing he could do for Raphael’s idiocy.

Raphael glared at him. Lily threw her hands in the air in exasperation and stormed out the room. Magnus followed her. Simon stayed stubbornly, silently glowering, until Raphael showed him his mended skin two hours later with a dramatically patronizing sigh and an eye roll, that suggested _Simon_ was the idiot.

With Raphael all patched up and back to his glorious insufferable self, Simon focused his attention on the Raphael-Clary problem. And the Clave-Vampire problem.

The mission Simon so spectacularly failed at had by far been the first one ever since he had been back to the hotel, though only the second one he had been allowed to tag along, everyone deeming it safe enough for him. It wasn’t uncommon for the Clave to recruit help with issues related or vaguely tangent to the Night Children. It happened before but it was far and few between.

Recently, specifically ever since Simon had become adviser again, they were nearing double digits during that short time slot alone. It was becoming eerily similar to how things used to be before Camille. Because since he had started to follow Raphael to the Shadowhunter meetings, saying ‘the Clave asked’ meant ‘Clary’ and ‘she was asking the Night Children’ actually meant ‘Simon’.

Clary was asking Simon to get help from Raphael. It hadn’t happened during the time he had been ‘grounded’ but for the past two months it became increasingly and worryingly often. A little bit of blood here, a tiny favor there and in-between a few ‘Can Raphael help?’.

Simon wasn’t stupid.

He realized a pattern when it started, especially when it was a re-run. History was repeating itself and he had a feeling it was just a matter of time until he found himself stuck at another crossroad demanding a decision of Clary or Clan. This time, the decision wasn’t going to be as clean-cut as half a year ago. Back then it had been Clary in a heartbeat. This time he was pretty damn sure he’d chose neither. But that was basically the same as losing both.

Sighing in frustration he threw a stress ball in form of a gray mouse against the wall. Simon was sprawled on his back on his bed, had been for an hour by now, ignoring everyone knocking at the door, hissing at him to kindly mope in silence.

Apart from that, he might have to have a talk with Clary about her behavior concerning Raphael if she insisted on using him as an outlet for her anger. Which was going to be such a joy ride, he just knew it. As much as he loved her, Clary didn’t take well to criticism, especially if it was going to be in defense of Raphael.

With another sigh, he decided to attack the lesser of two evils first. Which was unsurprisingly Raphael. While Raphael had been successfully dodging every effort of Simon to make them talk about _The Thing_ , he finally decided enough was enough. They were both going to put their big-boy-pants on and talk about everything like grown-ups, as Daniel would have said.

So yes, Simon was going to drop the ‘We have to talk’-bomb on Raphael.

He was nice enough to wait a few days to make sure that Raphael had completely recovered. Clearing his throat, eyes trailing nervously through Raphael’s office, which by now was more _their_ office, Simon even had his own desk and stuff, he fidgeted around, which earned him an annoyed glare, that he decided to ignore. When he opened his mouth to unload his rehearsed speech in one single breath, he was stopped before the first syllable made it out to see the light of day.

“Okay.”

Simon closed his mouth, frowning in confusion. “What?”

“I said ‘okay’,” Raphael repeated, raising his eyebrows as he got up from his chair.

“Uh, no, I mean, I was about to say, we need to talk.”

“Yes. I know.”

Well, that had been easier than expected.

“I reserved the Wedding Room,” he pointed out, disoriented from the clash of expectation and reality. “By that I mean I begged Maeve to lend it to us for a bit, because she has actually booked it for today.”

Raphael lifted his chin, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “Really,” was all he said with a playful tone that made Simon’s freeze or flight instinct kick in. His nerves must have been more worn down than he had assumed. “Let’s go then.”

Simon distractedly followed Raphael’s lead to the room, waiting for the other shoe to drop because this really was too easy. They stopped at a nondescript, locked door before he had even gathered his wits. Simon, still throwing Raphael a suspicious glance, expecting him to bolt the second he wasn’t looking, hammered loudly against it.

He had found the room about a month back to the Dumort. At first he had been confused. With the exception of the cellar, usually every room in the hotel was accessible, even private quarters were rarely locked. With the heightened senses and added strength certainly came a different understanding to the word privacy, everybody able to tell what was going on in whatever room they were close at. Doors were more a courtesy, not an obstacle.

Simon had assumed that the room was locked for a reason, most likely related to something awful Camille had done, so he hadn’t even bothered with it at first. Until he had spotted the clipboard hanging from the side, a calendar with names scribbled next to almost every day of the month.

When he asked around, Derek had informed him that it was called ‘The Wedding Room’, the only room in the hotel warded from the outside world. The place vampires booked when they wanted to have privacy. Explanation followed by excessive, suggestive eyebrow wiggling, which told Simon absolutely nothing because that gesture certainly wasn’t about sex.

He couldn’t count how often he had involuntarily listened to someone inside or _outside_ the hotel groaning and moaning, sometimes combined with very specific dirty talk that made him reach for his headphones to drown every sound out. By now the control of his hearing sense was good enough that he automatically switched it off, didn’t even notice unless he was really close or they were really, really loud. The later usually only related to Elliott anyway and none of the other clan members shied away from kicking his door in to tell him to keep it the fuck down.

Anyway, Simon figured, if he hoped to get more out of Raphael than he was willing to share with his whole clan, the ‘Wedding Room’ was most likely the best place for a heart to heart.

It took a moment before the door swung open, revealing a disheveled Maeve, scrunching her face, blearily staring at them before vary recognition flit into her expression. “Oh yeah, I forgot,” she said, glancing at Simon, then threw the door open wide enough so she could slip out. “Don’t take too long. Took me two months to get it.”

Simon nodded, entering the room.

It was honestly disappointingly mediocre in its furnishing. A king sized bed in one corner, a few armchairs around a table next to a fireplace, some paintings in different styles at the walls, old-fashioned blood red rugs strewn around like someone just decided to drop them wherever they stood. There was nothing eye catching or fancy that explained why Maeve would wait two months to get the room for _sleeping_.

Until the door closed behind them.

Everything was silent, the world outside completely banned from his senses. The constant murmuring of voices he used to push to the back of his mind to avoid going crazy, the sounds of traffic in front of the hotel, construction work on the other side of the street, blaring music transmitted through terrible speakers, noises he had learned to filter and ignore; even the smell of smog, spices, sweat, body spray – everything was gone. All that lingered was some residue of Maeve’s scent and perfume.

Simon felt like he let go of a tension he wasn’t even aware of. A bit like a cleansing.

“Oh, fuck, this is were Derek practiced for my birthday,” he realized with belated clarity. “That’s why I didn’t notice! I really can’t hear anything.”

“First time here?”

Simon nodded. “I came by but didn’t know what it was for. When Derek explained I thought, well that’s bonkers, who really cares.”

“I don’t really like it,” Raphael admitted.

Now there was a shocker, Simon thought sarcastically. Of course Raphael would dislike a room that prevented him from knowing what was going on in his home. Control freak that he was, he was more surprised that Raphael ever left the hotel in the first place. He probably thought the whole clan was going down if he weren’t there to watch over them 24/7.

“Well then, let’s get to it,” Raphael stated businesslike, shrugging his jacket off.

Simon squinted at him suspiciously. “Are you preparing for a fight?”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “No, I’m preparing for you to ruin another of my jackets. You have a record when it’s just the two of us,” he replied while neatly draping the jacket over the back of a brown leather armchair, before rolling his sleeves up.

“This definitely looks like you want to fight.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Simon.”

“I promise I won’t throw knives. Or you. Or blood.” Turned out, getting blood out of expensive leather jackets was _not_ an easy feat and required not only a very good dry cleaner’s but also some sort of divine assistance.

“I’m just getting comfortable,” Raphael snapped, then smoothly slid down in the same armchair he had his jacket on.

Simon eyed him suspiciously but followed suit and then didn’t know what to say. Raphael sat languidly, elbow on the arm rest, cheek in palm as he silently regarded Simon, patiently waiting for him to start. Simon wasn’t used to this amount of undivided attention, becoming uncomfortably aware of how truly alone they were for the first timer ever. Flustered, he averted his eyes, sitting far less gracefully in the chair.

“Uhm, so… something’s happening,” he started, clearing his throat. “Something I think might become a problem. Maybe. And well, given our history I thought we should talk about that before it really becomes a problem. And I assumed that, if we were already doing that we might as well address the giant golden elephant in the room.”

Raphael lifted both eyebrows.

Simon might have to work on his metaphors.

“The elephant being Camille.”

“I figured,” Raphael drawled.

Simon faltered again, wishing Raphael was willing to throw him a bone, help him out because they both knew how much better he was with talking, with bridging awkward silence, picking up conversations and smoothing things over. It was obvious that right now, though, he wanted to wait Simon out. Which was fair because Simon was the one who insisted on this conversation in the first place.

“No idea where to start, if I’m honest.” Simon let his eyes drift around the room without taking anything in, absorbed in his thoughts until he, with a defeated sigh, stuffed his hands in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a crumpled paper with some notes out. Barely reading he skimmed over the words. It was supposed to help collect his thoughts but he had a feeling it was confusing him even more right now.

Raphael leaned over, reached out and stole the paper from his hands. Simon squeaked in surprise, tried to get it back but was too slow. “You come prepared,” the other vampire said as he read, lips twisted in a thin-lipped smile, like he was trying to keep from laughing.

“You know I’m bad with this,” Simon grumbled, earning himself an affirmative hum.

The thing was, Raphael and Simon got along really well. Even better than they had before. He was content with that and generally unsure whether to even drag Camille up again in the first place, because frankly, it was old news. There wasn’t a lot to talk about anymore anyway. Raphael knew why Simon had done it, Simon understood why Raphael had acted the way he did. Well mostly. If he was being honest there was only one thing that bothered him maybe a teeny tiny bit, but not because he didn’t understand, but because he wanted to hear the confirmation from Raphael himself. And that was probably only because Simon was petty or childish or _something_.

The part of him that craved closure just wanted to know if they were both really fine with what happened. From the way things were between them he almost thought they were, but while they might get along, there was a reason Raphael didn’t offer a lot concerning his private life. The same reason Simon refrained from asking questions, knowing he was going to get evasive replies instead of answers.

Raphael didn’t trust him.

Of course, there was nothing he could do about that. Building trust on betrayal was probably the equivalent of building a brick house on wooden stilts. He wasn’t an expert in architectural design but he figured it took a lot of time, patience and effort.

It was a work in progress, definitely nothing to push for or try to force. It wasn’t like Simon didn’t detect Raphael’s measured willingness to reveal parts and pieces of himself, give him more responsibilities within the clan and even bring him along to the dreaded Shadow World parties as his plus one. Though he was still debating whether that was more a punishment.

What Simon didn’t know was, how much of that reluctance to trust had to do with their shared history, with Raphael being himself and with Raphael’s history of constantly watching his back around Camille. Most likely a combination of all three, intensified by ten just because it was Raphael and he was drama that way.

“This is harder than I thought,” Simon finally admitted, groaning into his hand. “It’s like I think we need to talk about Camille, but my head comes up empty when I try to find out how and about what exactly.”

“Do we have to?” Raphael asked seriously. “I’d rather forget what happened and move on.”

“Well, I mean, maybe?”

“What do you want to hear? I’m not going to apologize for anything.”

Simon blinked. “That’s not what I want. That’s not what this is about. It’s not… why do you think I want you to apologize for anything? You don’t even want _me_ to apologize to _you_ and I feel like I really have to. I’ve said so several times in the past. Why do you assume that’s what I want?”

Raphael glanced at him sideways, shrugging. “I don’t know. The killing order? I remember you being particularly upset about that.”

“Oh wow, yes, I was. Not anymore.”

“Just like that?”

“Not just like that,” Simon retorted, huffing in contempt. “I understand why you did it, that’s why. I was angry because you resorted to something this radical, yeah. We might have found a better way if it weren’t for the heat of the moment, yes. But I had a lot of time to reflect. And I get your reason.”

Raphael looked doubtful at his words.

Simon threw his hands up in mild exasperation. “Honestly, Raphael,” he groaned, pointing at the other with his index finger. “You’re not that hard to figure out. And I have eyes and ears and people talk and I might not be Sherlock Holmes but I can put two and two together.”

“Oh?” There was a mischievous undertone in his words, as Raphael gave him a once over. “Humor me, Watson. What’s the reason?”

Simon huffed again, mostly because he was trying to keep a straight face given the obvious challenge. “For the same reason you do anything. To protect the clan. I mean, you were the _interim_ chapter president. Your position was weak. Every stray vamp could have challenged you and there I was, casually undermining your authority. You showing leniency on someone betraying the clan would have destroyed what little credibility you had among the members.”

“So I did it to secure my position?”

“Noooo.” Raphael was purposefully misinterpreting his words there, wasn’t he? “Wait, yes,” he corrected, sitting up straighter. “But not because you were on a power trip or something. Come on. You know I have been reading these stupid laws, don’t you? And I didn’t do it because I was bored or had nothing better to do or because intentionally convoluted migraine inducing wording with quadruple negative really turns me on.

I did it because I wanted to understand the world I’m part of now. So I studied these dry as sandpaper laws, the stupid contracts and guess what I found? Those Clave assholes could have chosen anyone for head of the clan if there was any dissent on the leadership as long as you’re only an interim. Could have even decided the clan was unstable and dissolve it. Best case. Kill everyone preemptively in the worst case.

So, Accords, Clave not interfering in Downworlder business? Nice sentiment. Until you read the fine print. Pretty much reveals that they can do whatever the fuck they want if they were willing to jump through some hoops. You needed to protect yourself in order to protect the clan. And yes, you letting us get away with simply putting Camille back in her box wouldn’t have been the end of it. You knew it, I knew it, Clary knew it. Now, was this lengthy and in-depth essay good enough for you?”

Raphael was staring at Simon with a mixture of surprise, respect and something he failed to decipher. and then he started laughing. “Yeah, all good.”

The Latino sounded so much younger all of the sudden, accent somewhat more pronounced though he usually tried to conceal it as much as possible when he was speaking. The graceful act was dropped completely as tension left his body, replacing it with something akin to a slouch which made him actually look like a sixteen year old boy.

“You’re such a disaster,” Raphael continued after a moment, still chuckling to himself. “I always think I know what to expect from you but then you do something like this.” Without looking, his hand gesticulated vaguely in Simon’s direction. Forehead pressed into one hand, hiding most of his face as his laugh turned into amused huffing. “You learned more than I thought.”

Simon didn’t know what to do with that, so he shrugged, bashfully staring at his fingers, the complete opposite to his verbal onslaught. “Didn’t want to feel like an ignorant child anymore,” he confessed quietly.

Raphael switched sitting positions after a beat, folding the legs under his body so that he was sitting cross-legged on the chair now, his fingers drumming against his ankle. Simon’s brain was trying to compute, because Raphael was normally the embodiment of tightly controlled posture, always looking as intimidatingly unapproachable and confident as possible. Now he was more like a typical teenager.

“Equal footing,” Raphael explained at whatever Simon’s face was asking. “I think we have to be at eye level.”

It took Simon embarrassingly long to realize what it meant. His brain seemed to shut down at that revelation and took longer to restart than was funny, busy installing updates or something, he presumed.

Raphael had never dropped the pretense of clan leader around him, no matter the circumstances. When they were working together, when they talked about random gossip, even when they had gone out for drinks on his birthday or when they had been playing ‘Für Elise’ together, it had never felt like they were quite equal, the title making them keep a more or less professional distance.

This in front of him was not his clan leader or a person of authority.

Simon’s brain was still stuck in reboot.

“I honestly keep underestimating you,” Raphael conceded. “Yeah, everything you said had been on my mind. But to be honest, in the end, I also was just really angry at you.” He was silent for a moment, appearing to gather his thoughts. “Truth be told, this mess wasn’t only your fault. We both handled the situation poorly. It could have gone better if we both hadn’t been so stubborn.” Raphael shifted, seemingly uncomfortable as he wrapped his hand around the ankle like he needed to hold on something. “I expected you to understand and accept my reasoning without explaining anything. When you didn’t, I got frustrated, told you ‘no’, hoping it’d be the end of it. In retrospect, no idea what made me think that. You never listened to anything I told you.”

“I was always bad with authority,” Simon allowed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Gets me sort of defensive. I think I would have taken it more seriously if you had explained clearly. But well, I was an ass, too, and assumed you were just being difficult. It’s sort of what you do sometimes. And it’s not always easy to figure out when you are being genuinely disagreeable for reasons or acting all dramatic just for show. I mean, when I saw you—” Simon snapped his mouth shut immediately, eyes wide in horror, because no, he didn’t want to go there. Least of all with this preamble.

Raphael frowned in confusion at his abrupt pause, before it seemingly dawned on him. Hesitating for a second, he gritted his jaw, before opening his mouth. “I never would have hurt your mother.”

Simon knew that. Definitely. Sort of. He might have not back then, but from everything he had seen in the past months he gathered that Raphael wasn’t that kind of person. It was still different to hear it out loud, because that was what had worried him the most. Not his own safety, not Clary, who was part angel and protected by the Clave, but his mother, who didn’t know anything about what was going bumping in the night and had blindly trusted a freaking vampire.

“I never thought you’d show up in the first place.”

“But you enjoyed seeing me all freaked out when I found you. You knew what I was reading into it and made it extra, well… whatever the word is. Dramatic? Creepy? Threateningly? All of the above?”

“Maybe,” Raphael replied with a voice that meant ‘absolutely’.

Jackass.

Simon couldn’t even hold it against him, more resigned than actually offended. It had been an eye for an eye situation. Raphael’s family for Simon’s. It already meant a lot that Raphael brought it up, had managed to grasp what his sudden silence had been about as much as he had left that thought hanging in the air.

Either Raphael had a frighteningly good grasp of his thought process or it was something that had been weighting on his own mind, which was why he had immediately jumped to that conclusion. Simon had assumed that Raphael had really just wanted to forget everything and move on, but the level of self-reflection stated otherwise.

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise him. Raphael was dominated by logic and not emotions, backtracking his steps, analyzing them and learning from his experience. The complete opposite to Simon, who followed his gut and made decisions based on personal feelings and affection. Raphael was looking at the bigger picture, how many he had to sacrifice to save the most people, while Simon was the type to jump headless into oncoming traffic to save a kitten, without considering the many potential car accidents his actions could cause.

It was probably the reason why Raphael was a leader to begin with. The reason why Simon would never be any good if he were in the same position. Also the reason why he was so quick to snap and jump to conclusions and say things he didn’t even mean, and regretted as soon as they had left his mouth.

“While we’re at this. What I said to you at Magnus’ after your…” He trailed off, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “I was angry because of my mother. And I know this probably doesn’t mean anything to you. This is more for my own absolution but still… I’m sorry Aldertree tortured you because of me.”

Raphael looked remarkably unimpressed. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve had acid corrode my face, I had Shadowhunters strapping me to sacred ground. It’s not the first time I was tortured, won’t be the last.”

“That really doesn’t comfort me at all.”

Raphael tilted his head to the side with a wry smile. “Wasn’t meant to. Don’t even believe for a second that it’s rare. If they think they can get away with it, they will use it. Not to get answers, but because they want to see us suffer.”

Simon swallowed, remembering Aldertree with his nice guy smile throwing a casual threat at him. Maybe if Simon hadn’t been friends with Clary, he would have suffered the same fate, burning crosses in his skin, questioning him about things he didn’t know anything about.

Which actually brought him to the real topic that had been bothering.

“Right. The Clave. Clary,” he started slowly. “The reason I wanted to talk in the first place. And let me get this out first.” Simon played with his fingers, sighing to himself. This had been easier in his head. “I know Clary is a little out of line.”

Raphael’s cocked his head in confusion.

“I think I’ll have to talk to her about this sooner or later. I just don’t know how without turning it into a Cold War. But the main—”

“Hold on,” Raphael interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

“The way she treats you?”

Raphael furrowed his brow, puzzled. “You mean the yelling?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Yelling, threats, being all passive-aggressive, pushing the blame on you.”

“She has a personal vendetta against me, so what? I don’t care.”

“I do. I care,” Simon declared. He almost expected Raphael to ask ‘why’, but the other man simply considered him with a contemplative look. Maybe it had something to do with his dad dying when he was young, but Simon had the mentality of a German shepherd when it came to his friends, trying to keep all of the sheep together. He wanted the people he liked to get along. While he was willing to admit defeat in a few cases, because he knew that Derek and Clary were never going to be more than a fleeting but civil ‘hello’ when they met, he was not happy with the feud between his best friend and his boss, so to speak.

“I’m not a big fan of her as well,” Raphael said, like it wasn’t apparent in the way he used to wrinkle his nose whenever Simon brought her up, or how his voice was a few degree colder whenever they met. Though he never really acted on his aversion, and it wasn’t like Simon didn’t know where he was coming from. If he hazard a guess, it wasn’t even the reason why Clary was so angry with him all the time anyway. “She’s a child, stomping through the Shadow World with superficial knowledge about its intricacies, throwing tantrums when ignored and leaving havoc in her path. You, even at the beginning, tried to understand and learn more than she did.” Simon opened his mouth to defend her but Raphael shot him a warning glare. “But to be fair, she’s neither better nor worse than any other Shadowhunter I’d had to deal with. Just another disappointment. Too bad she has the urge to string you along.”

Honestly, Simon was good with Clary apart from her current behavior towards Raphael. She was doing what she always used to do, relying on Simon when she needed help. The same way he would on her.

The only difference now was that Simon had learned from the past. It didn’t matter that they were best friends. Clary wasn’t the one ruling the Clave. She couldn’t reliably extend the protection she received herself to her friends, least of all vampire friends. Simon had learned that the hard way, when he had been confronted with Aldertree.

Yet, what she was asking of him had become increasingly unofficial Clave business, which had to do with the fact that the Shadowhunter world was as corrupt as human politics. Even Alec, Izzy and Jace didn’t know who to trust anymore, so that they would rather turn to Downworlders for help. Without thinking, Simon had unquestioningly jumped back into the fray with her. Until he realized the pattern. And apparently, Raphael had too.

“Wait, you knew? And you didn’t stop me? Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Curiosity.”

Simon flashed his teeth in a barely contained snarl. “When would you have said anything?”

“I respect your relationship, even if I don’t like her. It’s not really my place as long as it didn’t harm the clan.”

“What? You getting injured doesn’t equal harm?”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “I got injured because I was careless. If their information had been good, it was better to get rid of the den, that’s why I agreed to it. Apart from that, what would _you_ have done if I had tried talking to you about your precious Clary and what _I_ think is going on?”

Simon snapped his mouth shut. First instinct, he would have probably gotten defensive out of habit. After that, depending on the way Raphael addressed the issue, he would have either gone down denial or anger road. Christ, almost fifteen years of friendship really made him protective of Clary. Then again, they had been Clary and Simon as long as he could remember. Sticking up for each other, waiting for a storm to pass over before setting each other straight again if one of them had been in the wrong. They had always been each others safety net, moral compass, angel and devil on the shoulder.

“Point taken,” he admitted, “I might have acted like a baby. Or something.”

Raphael was mature enough to keep the smugness to himself at the affirmation. Mostly.

“So what are we going to do? What you you want me to do?”

“About what exactly?”

Simon waved his hands. “You know, Clary asking for help. Do you want me to turn her down? Or only accept official requests? Do you want me to keep out of the whole thing? Whatever you decide, I’ll accept it. Just tell me what you expect from me.”

“What do _you_ want?”

“I want to help Clary,” he answered without missing a beat. “And if she’s asking me, personally, and not you, meaning the clan, and it doesn’t directly interfere with clan business, I don’t see a reason to turn her down.”

“The fact that you share a bond with vampires notwithstanding, I presume?”

Simon paused at that, confused. “What do you mean?”

“If something happens to you, they will know. If you are in pain, they will feel it.”

“What?”

That hadn’t been on his radar at all. He was faintly aware of his clan bond, a pleasant warmth that had lingered unchanged for a while now, sometimes intensified by the happiness of his friends. So far, only once had he been affected by it negatively. But now that Raphael mentioned it, he had never considered asking how Derek or Arya had felt when his throat and part of his face had been torn open by a Forsaken, bone, muscle and skin slowly knitting together while he had laid bleeding on the floor and they had to continue fighting to keep themselves and him save.

That was why Derek had been so against forming a bond with him. It was one thing to mourn someone who died. It was another to feel that person dying, least of all if they were special to them.

But if that were true, why had Simon not noticed Raphael’s pain? At least Lily or Elliott should have been able to figure it out.

“But nobody knew you were hurt!”

“Learned to suppress it,” Raphael replied dismissively. “I doubt you’ll be able to do that any time soon. It doesn’t help with the dying, though.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Simon wasn’t sulking or pouting, definitely not, he just felt like crossing his arms in front of his chest in defense.

“You need more training.”

“I’ve been training with Derek and you for months now. If it didn’t help, I guess, I’m just bad then.”

“You’re not bad,” Raphael disagreed, shaking his head, “You’re just used to one on one fighting and our fighting style. Coming next week, I think you should start training with Lily. Followed by group training if she thinks your ready.”

It wasn’t that Simon was all that keen on fighting per se. He was just curious by nature and he wanted to be with his friends and help out if he could. Giving practice with Lily a try was probably the wisest decision. He honestly couldn’t keeo endangering his friends by becoming a liability to them.

“Wait, does that mean you won’t stop me from going with Clary if she asks?”

“Do you want me to stop you?”

“I,” Simon stretched the word until he decided to shut up. If what Raphael told him was true, and he didn’t know why Raphael would lie to him about that, this wasn’t about him. Not if it meant that the people he cared about had to suffer from his decision to act all reckless. On the other hand, he didn’t know how to explain to Clary why he was so reluctant to agree the next time she was asking for his support. “I mean, you _could_ forbid me from joining them, you know,” he suggested almost desperately, the words ‘help me’ written all over his face in capital letters.

Raphael wrinkled his forehead. “Simon, I’m not your mother. I’m not going to lie to your friend, telling her you’re not allowed to leave the house because _you_ don’t want to hang out with her.”

“Did you seriously just make that comparison?”

“Isn’t that what you were going for?”

“What? No!” The fervor in his voice probably gave him away. “Only a little, maybe!” Simon threw his head against the back of the armchair and hid his face behind his hands. He felt like a coward. His brain wasn’t able to keep up with the conversation for some reason and Raphael, that asshole, really wasn’t helping being all accommodating and understanding.

Raphael let him fret and wallow in his ineptitude for a moment, before he spoke up again, annoyed. “Alright, fine. If she wants your help, you have to let me know and if I tell you ‘no’, you will stay in the Hotel.”

Simon removed the hands from his face. “I feel like this will just end in us arguing a lot.”

“Then tell her she has to handle her business herself.”

“I think I’m too weak for that.”

“Simon, honestly.” Raphael sounded exasperated. For a second he expected the other to hit him over the head with the palm of his hand. “What do you expect me to do? You have to make up your mind about what _you_ want. There’s no comprehensive solution to this problem. This is your responsibility and you’ll have to live with the consequences of your actions. No one’s forcing you to make a decision _now_. You can always say no or yes depending on the situation. And no one’s saying you have to make that decision _alone_.”

“Uh,” Simon started eloquently. “What you’re saying is, I can help Clary if I want? And I can ask for advice?”

Raphael could have only conveyed his ‘Duuh’ more elaborately if the sound actually accompanied the look he was giving him. “I’m not your keeper. You’re all adults and free to act as reckless and stupid as you want. God knows the trouble some of the other vamps get into. Just don’t expect me to clean up your mess.”

Simon nodded, mind suddenly drifting to that time when Elliott had been two-timing some fairies. All hell had broken loose when they had found out and stormed the hotel, destroying walls in their quarrel, literally bringing the ceiling down. Luckily it had been night and none of the vampires had been hurt. Lily and Raphael, being all badass, had glared the obnoxious fairies into submission, forcing them to repair the damage before kicking them out together with Elliott, forbidding him either entry until he had sorted this problem out or the sun was rising.

They were, as far as Simon knew, in a quite lovely polyamorous relationship now.

“So, uhm, what about when she’s not asking me? But wants help from you? I know it’s cowardly, but I’d rather not be involved with that. I mean, I think it would be better if requests like that went through the proper channels. Hoping that me being your advisor wasn’t actually the right way to get an audience with you.” Raphael rolled his eyes at his phrasing. “I mean, sign me up for the torture that are the Shadowhunter meetings or the High Society parties. And of course, if you decide to help Clary out I’m more than willing to do whatever I can. I just don’t want to be the reason you have to deal with more crap than you already do. That came out wrong. I mean,” he groaned in frustration. “I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” Raphael said.

“ _I mean_ ,” Simon started again, with more emphasize. “If you want me to be the one to do that, we have to, I don’t know, establish rules? Guidelines? Make them idiot-proof so I don’t mess up. Something.”

“I honestly don’t know what you can mess up,” Raphael said, appearing genuinely confused again. “You tell me what’s going on, I say yes or no. Done.”

“Yeah, no, not done. Not when you say ‘no’ and you know I’ll keep bugging you about it.”

“Ground rule: don’t.”

“But then I would disappoint Clary…”

“So?”

“And if I don’t get your reason, I might get annoyed with you.”

“Again, don’t.”

“Urgh, come on,” Simon groaned. “I just don’t want to be caught between the stools!”

Raphael held back what he was about to say, furrowing his brow in reply instead. Simon probably did a terrible job getting his point across about what exactly he wanted to avoid if Raphael was giving him this long contemplative stare but he didn’t know how to explain it. He had trouble explaining it to himself, that there might be no problem at all, that he was simply overreacting, that they were talking hypotheses and that maybe he really was making a big deal about nothing, but he rather wanted to be save than sorry. It had potential to blow up in their face again and they honestly didn’t need that.

“Tell Clary, if she wants anything from me, she has to go over Lily or come directly to me.”

Simon halted for a second. “Oh.” Somehow that hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Oh yeah, Clary likes Lily! That should work.”

“Maybe,” Raphael said, a smirk on his lips. “Lily’s not the easiest person to persuade. And she’s not known to hold back when speaking her mind.”

“Still better than me.”

“Quite.”

Simon fell silent, quietly happy as he tried to recall the last… however long they had been in this room by now. The absence of any outside cues messing with his sense of time. He wasn’t sure if they had talked about everything they needed to, but it wasn’t like their communication was limited to this room and this moment. Yet, he realized that the name Camille wasn’t coming along with a strong aftertaste of regret anymore. Sort of hoped it was the same for Raphael.

“You were right, by the way,” Raphael said, surprising Simon with his words. “You were right in bringing this up.”

“Uhm… yeah, thanks for, you know, talking to me. And the whole equal thing.”

Raphael nodded at that. It was apparent that he considered the conversation over, was hoping to get back to his work and Simon didn’t know why to keep him back. “Are we… are we good?” Simon asked tentatively, playing with a loose string of his shirt.

“We are,” Raphael replied without hesitation. “At least from my side.”

“Oh yep, all done, leave history behind here as well.”

Raphael eyed him for a few seconds, before he nodded. The change in his demeanor was immediate as they prepared to leave the room. As soon as Raphael’s feet touched the floor it was back to tension straightening his posture, expression hardening, even the accent was more controlled when he spoke again to comment on Maeve not being very happy with them taking so long.

Simon nodded, feeling somewhat guilty, as he moved to open the door, watching Raphael picked up his jacket and rolling his sleeves back down.

“Look at that,” he exclaimed, with some smugness. “Your jacket survived it!”

“I’m eternally grateful for that.”

Maeve already waited impatiently in front of the room when they stepped out, leaning against the wall. “What took you so long?” She didn’t give him time to answer, instead kept going. “Was it at least helpful?” Glancing at Raphael, Simon nodded quickly. “Good.” She smiled genuinely, before pushing herself off the wall. “Would have hated my sacrifice to be in vain.” She moved to enter the room, but paused next to Simon, leaning in as if to tell him a secret. “Everyone was betting on the outcome.”

“Vampires are the worst gossipers,” Simon groaned.

“It just shows they care,” Maeve replied, patting his shoulder a few times before she entered the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Poll is on ‘I stabbed you with the bed leg’,” Raphael said with a frown, slightly tilting his head, the barest indication that he was listening to a conversation that was too far away for Simon’s own ears. Sometimes he wondered how good Raphael’s hearing was. “I’m beginning to believe that the clan thinks I have zero impulse control.”

“Don’t take it too hard,” Simon tried to comfort him. “It’s more likely because of my effect on other’s.”

Raphael gave him a wry smile in reply, before he dashed off without another word, leaving Simon to find out who was running the betting pool, subjecting himself to an inquisition in order for them to figure out who was closest to what was going on and therefore most likely the winner.

The things one did for the clan, he thought amused.


	10. Even Children Get Older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has a talk with Clary and then with Lily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me. Just trying to make sense of the show. But, hey, finally a chapter again, that didn't make me want to ram my head against a wall! Next few chapters should be smooth sailing. More or less.  
> On another note, when I started posting this I was at 70k words. I'm at 111k now. I think I need help...
> 
> Title: Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

Incidentally, Simon met Clary just a few days after his conversation with Raphael in the Wedding Room. After the stint with the fake feeding den fiasco they had only talked a handful of times, Clary asking him how he was doing, apparently still feeling guilty about the whole thing.

It was one of the rare nights their schedules aligned. Simon was visibly tense the first few minutes into their meeting, then pushed any thoughts of the more risky topic he had to breach sooner or later to the back of his mind until they were ready to part.

Simon wasn’t sure if he was being smart about it or simply cowardly.

But it was good, having her to himself, without anyone intruding on conversation, interrupting with insides joke that either Clary or Simon didn’t get and had to explain to avoid making the other feel left out. It made the flow of their conversation and jokes more fluent and natural.

“I’m going to meet Maureen, by the way,” he supplied when Clary asked him how he was doing with his new band, which triggered all sorts of amusing anecdotes from him. They were probably nightmares for the other clan members who were forced to listen to the trio messing around.

There wasn’t even any doubt that Arya was purposefully singing louder than she needed to and it probably wasn’t a coincidence that the hotel was eerily deserted between 1 am and 3 am every Monday and Thursday.

Raphael, with his impeccable control of hearing was one of the few remaining brave soldiers who stayed and studiously continued to work. He was most likely drowning everything out around him anyway or was more steadfast in his resolution to let himself be disturbed by _anything_. Though, keeping track of his schedule, Simon did see a tendency of Raphael placing meetings outside the hotel in that particular time slot more often.

Simon refrained from voicing any theories, while he snickered secretly to himself.

Maria seemed to enjoy their playing, joining them in the music room, rocking back and forth and clapping out of tact to the singing, while smiling happily.

All jokes aside though, Simon let Arya play around for a bit before actually starting on coaching her singing the best he could with his own limited knowledge. Maureen had been the singer in their band and she had taught him a few things for warm-up, breathing techniques and pitch-control but for a lot of things he relied on his own basic musical intuition.

Arya honestly wasn’t tone-deaf. She had trouble hearing notes going up or down, but her real problem was that she didn’t know how to tune her voice. So he started her off by playing notes she had to repeat with her voice, trying to guide her without cringing at tunes way off from what he had been playing. Contrary to his expectations, Arya was earnest and patient, even though she did jokingly imply that Simon was exaggerating how off she sometimes was. Until they used a tuning app on her phone so she could see the comparison of what he had been playing and what she had repeated for herself.

She wasn’t even mortified at the results, took it with amused composure, letting him know she had an eternity to learn anyway and torturing Simon, who evidently had to stick around for everything, was a nice side effect.

“That’s a surprise,” Clary answered. “What brought that on?”

“She messaged me on my birthday. We’re still working out the details, difficult to find a time working for both of us.”

Clary was silent for a moment, dragging her straw through the cocktail, lost in thought. “I think I got a message as well. On my birthday,” she suddenly realized in shock, looking for her phone and scrolling through it before she let out a groan. “I never replied.” She slapped the palm of her hand lightly against her forehead. “Did you talk to her on _her_ birthday?”

Simon shook his head. “I thought about it but.” A shrug followed his words. Maureen’s birthday had been in May and while he had been busy around that time trying to make things right with the clan, it was fear that had led him to stare at his phone for an hour and then decide against it.

“At least you remembered,” Clary wailed with a hint of accusation that he hadn’t reminded her. “Look at that,” she continued, waving her phone with the message in front of his face. “We dropped all contact. Forgot her birthday. And she’s still so sweet.”

“I know how you feel,” Simon agreed, lowering her arm so it would stop hovering over the table. “She’s like a warrior queen angel. Kicks ass in one second, then turns around and switches to dotting sister mode in the next. I was afraid to open her message because I expected the former.”

Clary watched him with a frown for a brief moment, before sighing. “I guess if you’re meeting, things are okay?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find out when we do. We don’t really talk, just setting up a date.”

“Let me know how it went.”

“Sure, if you want to hear about her wiping the floor with me.”

Clary laughed at that, slurping the rest of her cocktail through the straw before sliding the empty glass to the side of the table, resting one cheek in her palm. “We’ve been bad friends I know, but it won’t be that bad.”

Simon stared at her in disbelief until he realized that he’d never told her what had happened between Maureen and him. Shaking his head, because he didn’t want to drag the whole thing up right now, he answered with a simple “We’ll see” and left it at that.

The topic switched from Maureen to Clary’s training. She talked in wide gestures with lots of enthusiasm, the way she usually only used to talk about her favorite artist or a new incredible painting she spotted. Now it was about weapons, runes and ways to effectively subdue an enemy.

Simon found himself listening intently and filing everything away, almost as if he were expecting to need that knowledge in the future. He did, in all likelihood, and the thought that his subconsciousness decided that without him was somewhat scary. Clary was still his best friend, she knew stuff about him no one else did and always had been on his side. Yet, he realized, compared to her, he wasn’t as willing to share vampire insider knowledge anymore, had never even mentioned the bond. Clary on the other hand didn’t seem to have any scruples talking to him about Shadowhunter business like it was his own. The imbalance left a bad taste in his mouth, that he tried to drown with a sip of coffee.

“Which reminds me,” Clary said, almost hesitantly like she assumed that Simon wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say. “We, that’s me, Izzy and Jace are offering to train you.”

“You what?” he asked, blindsided.

Clary avoided his eyes, instead focused on a spot on his shoulder. “Bernice and Arya mentioned that you were training with Raphael and Derek, if I remember correctly, but…” Her fingers drummed nervously on the table as she worried her lips, straining for diplomatic phrasing. “But it’s apparently not… Anyway. We thought, if you want to, you could learn from us. With us. Join… us…”

Simon was opening and closing his mouth several times, before he pressed his lips in a thin line. This was bad. He actually felt protective irritation flare up at what she was implying, which was unfair. She, no, _they_ worried about him, wanted him to be save and able to defend himself. It wasn’t right to get angry at that. He let a few seconds pass to anchor his emotions, before he replied, without any inflection. “Derek and Raphael are amazing fighters.”

“I know they are,” Clary hurried to placate. “I’m not claiming the opposite. But maybe, and I wouldn’t know because I have never seen it, but maybe they aren’t the best teachers?”

“No, I’m just bad,” he continued neutral. “And don’t even think about giving me a weapon. I’d just stab myself.”

She laughed, but it sounded forced. “They wouldn’t work for you anyway.”

“Actually, Raphael already switched my training over to Lily.”

“Oh?” Clary said, sounding irritatingly pleased.

 _Might as well_ , Simon thought and went for his phone in his pockets to get it out. “Yeah, we’ll start next week. And also… we had a talk. Raphael and I.” Clary was obviously intrigued now, leaning forward. Simon scrolled through his contact list until he stopped at ‘D’. “I’m supposed to give you Lily’s number.”

“Okay. But why?”

“Well,” he paused, taking a breath to collect himself. “We… I mean I… Uhm, you know how…” Clicking his tongue, he started again. “If you need help, and with you I mean Alec, Jace, Izzy and you, with any Clave business, you can still come to us, but if it sort of involves the clan it would be better if you contact Lily instead of me. I mean, if it’s just _me_ you want, of course you can hit me up anytime, don’t need to go through Lily.”

A storm crossed over Clary’s face in a heartbeat, growing stronger with every word, while Simon wilted in accordance to how much her eyes darkened. Wordlessly, she snatched the phone out of his hands and copied the number to her own. Simon, naive as he was, thought that this went better than expected. Until Clary opened her mouth.

“You shouldn’t let him push you around.”

Simon froze. “What?”

“Raphael,” she explained with a growl in her voice. “I get it, you’re feeling guilty, but that doesn’t mean he gets to treat you like some lapdog.”

“Again. What?”

Clary stared at him, knitting her brows. “I see how he treats you, Simon. Remember that time at Central Park? He was practically forcing you to say all that, giving you cues and signs. And then Arya and Bernice said how busy you were because of all the work. You don’t even have much free time anymore. Do you even realize how difficult it is for us to meet? You keep canceling on me because of work. And don’t even think, I didn’t notice that you won’t let me come close to the hotel anymore.”

“Oh God, no Clary. So much wrong. So many misunderstandings.”

She ignored him, as she kept going. “And it’s his responsibility to train and prepare you for dangerous situations. Then you get hurt protecting one of _his_ people and all he has to say is that you aren’t ready for this? Seriously?”

The worst thing was, Simon actually understood where she was coming from. From the same side he had used to be on, before he had gotten to know Raphael and found out that he was a prickly cactus filled with cotton candy and shrapnel bombs. Also not the type of cactus with a few long hard spikes, but the ones with many fine, soft, tiny ones that didn’t do a lot of damage but were annoying to get out once you had unintentionally gotten too close.

Yes, Raphael was a two-faced bastard who liked to rile people up, especially the Shadowhunters. Who wasn’t above rubbing it into their faces when he had something they wanted. Who made it a game of letting them talk or blackmail him into giving them what they wanted just to make a point, show them how they weren’t any better than the Downworlders, angel blood or not.

Clary never got to see the Raphael Simon dealt with on a daily basis, didn’t see the Raphael that cared for his clan, was patient and calm and generally the opposite of a jerk. It didn’t help that this was exactly how Raphael wanted to be seen by outsiders in the first place. And all the stories Simon offered about his clan life, as little as they usually involved the clan leader, didn’t seem to paint a better picture of him for her. Worse, she probably assumed he was telling her some half-truths or outright _lies_ to calm her down.

“Nooo, Clary, nooo,” Simon wailed.

She lost steam at his high-pitched distressed noise, crossed her arms on the table as she pouted at him in restrained anger. “And now this! So he doesn’t trust you to relay some important messages anymore? What’s that about?”

“It’s not like that Clary.”

“Of course it is!”

“No, it’s not him. It’s us,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. A couple at a table next to them gave him weird looks and he reigned his voice back in, lowering his volume as he continued. “I asked him, okay? I told him I don’t want… that I think it might be a bad idea if I do it.”

“What do you mean ‘us’?” Simon flinched at her cold voice. “Is it a problem for him that we are friends? So what, he’s punishing you for that?”

“Oh God, Clary,” Simon groaned, hiding his face behind his hands. “How low is your opinion of him?”

“Very low,” she admitted promptly. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is you, Simon. I want you to be happy and not suppressed by some tyrannical dictator or whatever he thinks he is.”

“You got it so wrong.” At this point, the level of miscommunication was almost funny.

“ _I_ got it wrong?” she growled, angry. “ _You’re_ the one cowering in front of him, because you still think you have to make up for the whole Camille thing.”

Simon’s fist connected violently with the table before his brain had any chance to intervene. Clary jolted back in surprise, staring at him with wide eyes and open mouth.

“Clary,” he said, voice strained with stifled annoyance at Clary implying he lacked a backbone to stand up for himself. “ _I_ told him I don’t want to be the man in the middle. I don’t want our relationship to be affected by Clave-Clan stuff. I don’t want to have to choose a side if it ever came down to it. So _I_ went and talked to him about it. _I_ forced him to come up with a solution because _I_ can’t handle it. And if I’m being honest, I think _you_ shouldn’t even be the one to contact the clan in the first place. That should be Alec’s job. We are just…” Suddenly catching the alarmed whispers in the cafe, Simon suddenly realized how loud and aggressive he had gotten with every word. Ashamed, he duck his head, continued in a softer voice again. “We’re too new to the Shadow World. Last year we were just two airheads dreaming of releasing our own comics. Now we’re in a world that has so many things we don’t understand. We shouldn’t… I honestly think we shouldn’t meddle more than necessary. You’ve seen where that got us… And… and I really don’t want us fighting over this. Everything is already difficult enough. Clary, you know I’ll always be there as your friend, but I think… we should let the ‘grown-ups’ handle the other stuff.”

Simon watched Clary. Her head was hanging low, eyes somewhere on the table, expression hard with anger and lips pressed firmly together.

“I know you want to help. I want to help, too. But maybe we’re doing more harm than good because of how little we actually get. And Raphael, he’s not forcing me to do anything, okay? I know. I _understand_ that it’s hard to believe with the way he acts around you, but trust me, he’s not like that at all. Really, the reason I’m so busy is because I love what I’m doing. It barely feels like work at all. More like sitting younger siblings.”

“You love to do inventory?” she asked with a snort.

Simon took it as what it was, a tentative peace offering. “Do it once with Elliott and Jacob and you’ll understand,” he explained with a fond smile. “One wants to touch everything and the other fears total annihilation with every artifact. You’ll never see a better comedy duo.”

Clary’s lips formed into something resembling a smile, but it was dropped quickly. Her fingers started tapping against the table again, as her brow furrowed in contemplation. Simon gave her space to sort through her thoughts, while he twisted the cup between his fingers, the heat of the coffee long gone. Now, he was glad that they had chosen a mundane coffee shop, even though he spend money on a drink he could drink and tasted awful on his tongue anyway. Yet, the chance of running into a fellow vampire, clan member or not, were mighty slim in this setup. Curious eavesdroppers were the last thing they needed.

“You’re really happy?”

Simon startled at her question, then nodded in reply. “I am.”

“Raphael is not taking advantage of you? Treating you bad?”

“He’s not,” Simon confirmed with a laugh, brain creating a slide show of every one of his mishaps of the last month alone which was enough to make him feel like _Raphael_ deserved a vacation just for having to deal with him. “It’s more that I torture him. But I meant it. I can relate to how you got that idea. Mostly. Some of it is you twisting my words.”

“What’s Daniel’s deal then?” Clary asked, glossing over the minor accusation. “He doesn’t seem to like him much. I thought the clan hates Raphael and just accepts him because he’s still better than Camille.”

“Daniel’s just salty, because Raphael showed his support of his relationship with Tamara by giving him a stuffed wolf. A week later Daniel’s room was full with them ‘cause the clan thought it was funny. Everyone ended up giving him one. Daniel thinks Raphael instigated the whole thing. I’m not saying he didn’t, but there’s also no proof he did.”

Oh, he totally did.

There was no way Raphael didn’t have a hand in this somehow, even if it had only been some subliminal encouragement on his part. That degree of harassment of his clan members was completely something Raphael would do, had done before. He definitely gave off those asshole-big-bro vibes, transmitting in bold letters ‘I’ll protect you from everything, because I care for you, but you can be sure that I’ll be the one to embarrass you in front of your friends with mortifying information, be a dick about it and tease you mercilessly every time you mess up’. Simon didn’t know anything about Raphael’s family but he was willing to bet his last cent on Raphael having at least one younger sibling.

“And you keep me away from the hotel?” She left the question hanging for him to pick up.

He did with a deep sigh. “Because I realized that you shouldn’t be there.” Her expression shattered for the fracture of a second. Simon felt like an asshole, could have probably found a better way to say that. “It’s… that time I asked you to come over, I didn’t… I mean this is not only my home. It’s home to other vamps. Who lost someone to Shadowhunters. And… and they might not want them around.

He cringed at his own words.

“You said you cleared it with Raphael. He didn’t seem to be against it.”

Simon had his own theory about that. One he couldn’t tell Clary, especially not when he tried to convince her that Raphael wasn’t that much of an asshole. Simon had done his own fair share of fuming over the approach of _showing_ Simon what Clary’s presence did to other vampires instead of explaining it with words. It was Derek’s reaction that really drilled it into Simon’s stupid brain, that clan members, family, had been _killed_ , that some were in mourning and pain.

In all fairness, Raphael had tried to explain it once, when Clary had asked for shelter. By now, he had probably given up on that method and instead resorted to making it painfully obvious in an equivalent of dropping a sign on his head. That was apparently the only way that worked for Simon’s ignorance.

“I did. He… he probably agreed because I wasn’t allowed to leave at that time?” Simon wasn’t even sure if that was truth or lie. “Anyway, it was my decision. No one told me to keep you away. I just thought with what had happened that it was maybe… tactless.”

Clary looked uncomfortable again, chewing on her lower lip, but at least it seemed that she accepted his explanation. “It’s a lot,” she admitted after a moment, reaching for her bag. “A lot to think about.”

Simon got the hint, nodded when she hesitated a second before she got up. Fumbling with her wallet, she sighed in frustration before turning to him. “I’ll be gone for a while. Special training in Idris,” she hastily tacked on when she noticed Simon’s expression fall. “I was going to tell you today. I don’t know how long it will be. I think… it’ll be enough time to think about everything.”

He nodded, smiled weakly.

Clary sighed again, then leaned over to press a fleeting kiss to his temple before dropping some money next to her glass. “I’ll text you as soon as I get back,” she promised with a last squeeze to his shoulder and a crooked smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

After she was gone, Simon continued to sit at the table for a while, turning his still full cup around, lost in thought, until someone cleared their throat next to him. A quick look at the waiter and then the time told him that it was almost closing time. Flustered, he rushed for his money to pay for his drink and left quickly as well.

All things considered, this had still gone fairly well, he thought, but decided to leave the final verdict for when Clary had returned from Idris.

Simon stared at the ceiling and contemplated all his life choices that had led him to this, starting the day he decided that the pretty girl around the corner was so totally going to become his bestest friend. 

Lily was straddling his thighs, holding him down on his shoulder with enough force to crush his bones. Boy, if he had thought Raphael was rough, than Lily was fucking Terminator. Compared to Lily, Raphael was patient, gentle and careful.

“Raphael has his control, but I’m better when it comes to fighting technique,” she said smugly, leaning over him. The long hair falling over her shoulder was tickling his nose and he blamed his still innate humanity that he actually sneezed. 

“That’s what he meant by saying he’s preparing me,” Simon groaned, lifting one hand to rub his face until he realized that the bones in his lower arm had been snapped in two and his hand was limply hanging down and wouldn’t be of any use. Disgusted with his own body, he quickly dropped the arm down by his side. Apart from that, Lily had torn the tendon in his ankle with her nails, which rendered his feet pretty much useless as well.

She was a menace.

Lily huffed, rolled off and sat cross-legged next to him, waiting for his healing process to finish before she no doubt was going to continue fighting the dirtiest Simon had ever witnessed. Her technique and fighting style were better than Raphael’s, as far as Simon could tell with his limited knowledge and because he didn’t know how much Raphael had held back training him. However, what really gave her an edge was the mental Guerrilla strategies combined with dirty tricks.

She was making it painfully clear that any distraction could lead to his demise, that fights weren’t as clean cut as they had been when he was training with other vampires, that everyone willing to win with their life on the line would resort to whatever means possible. And if fighting against mindless creatures, even the pain of their own injuries wasn’t going to slow them down.

“I don’t have any patience for beginners,” Lily explained. “I’d just throw them against walls and be done with them. So he does the basic stuff, sends them my way if they need more than that. Though he did a lot more with you. Or was it Derek? You did pretty good.”

Simon groaned. “I’m trash. Hasn’t even been a month when I got my ass handed to me by some Forsaken.”

“You’re not ready for a fight on that scale,” she agreed without any judgment. “If we had known, you wouldn’t have been there. Still, it was a trap, and given the circumstances, you held your own. It shouldn’t take long and you’ll be ready for group practice. That’s when the fun part begins.”

Simon tested his foot, realized that it was still not moving. This was going to take some time, he just knew it. “Can’t wait.”

“It’s not a must.” She must have picked up on the reluctance in his voice. “Everyone gets basic training, above isn’t mandatory. Only if you want to become a guard.”

Simon stilled. Just because he wasn’t going to mediate anymore, didn’t mean the Clave would stop asking for help and even if they did, there was always some trouble one way or another. He knew he was never going to be as badass as Derek or Arya, but he still wanted to stand together with his friends, wasn’t the type to wait at home, biting nails and worrying for everyone to return safely. 

“‘course I want. Can’t be a liability, right?” It wasn’t like Simon didn’t know that Raphael and Derek had held back every time they sparred. He had seen them fighting the Forsaken, effortlessly communicating without using words, keeping each other’s backs free. They had worked like a well oiled machine, in tandem even with the Shadowhunters. Only Simon had been the odd one out, focusing on whatever was before him and ignoring what happened behind. Trying to protect Elliott had probably been a vain attempt as well, but everyone was possibly too polite to point that out to him. “I mean, even Clary noticed how bad I was. She offered to train me, too.” 

His words immediately piqued Lily’s interest. “They did?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t accept or anything.”

“You should.”

Simon poked his stomach, figuring whatever internal damage he had suffered had been mended by now and decided to sit up, wincing at the pain shooting through his whole body. “I’m confused.”

“There are rogue Shadowhunters out there. Learning their tricks would be a huge advantage. We know how to handle them, from what we learned by fighting them. Knowing how they learn to fight _us_ , now that’s interesting. I don’t think any of us ever had the chance to learn from Shadowhunters.”

“Oh,” Simon said, blinking. He hadn’t considered that.

“Of course it’s up to you. Nobody’s going to force you.”

“Maybe,” Simon replied, relieved to see that at least his hand wasn’t at an odd angle anymore and some feeling had returned to it. “I’ll consider it. Time’s not all that on my side, though.”

“If your stretched too thin, you’ve to say it.” There was worry in Lily’s words as she looked him up and down, her eyebrows drawn low in a concerned frown.

“No, no, all good,” he answered dismissively, wondering how fragile he appeared that everyone was worried about his health. It wasn’t that he had too much to do, but that his schedule clashed horribly with every none-vampire simply because of him being nocturnal. Vampire business had a habit of escalating during the night for the same reason as well. “I’m more worried about you. You’re up all night patrolling outside the hotel or checking up on our security system. And if you’re not doing that, you’re busy being Raphael’s second in command or training everyone. Me included. How did you even fit me into that at all?”

“Aww, baby, don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ll always have time for you,” she said, patting his lower arm reassuringly, almost purring. “But I think I overdid it a little.” Her eyes were on his ankles that still struggled to heal, taking longer than he was used to. “Did you eat before training?”

“Uh,” Simon said eloquently, trying to remember. The day had started somewhat hectic, Simon literally falling out of his bed woken by an explosion from within the hotel. Cecilia, known for her short attention span with an obsession for weird and possibly dangerous experiments had apparently forgotten that she had been working on something. Whatever that had been was still a mystery to Simon, but the result had smelled of a mixture of foul eggs and chili and had blown a hole in the common room she had started the experiment in before forgetting all about it and deciding to go to bed. 

The clan had been extremely annoyed as it was still before sunset and they couldn’t even open the windows to air the weird stench out. After that, another problem rose to the attention and one thing led to another and if he considered the question thoroughly, he might have forgotten to eat.

Well that explained the slow healing.

“You have to take better care of yourself,” Lily chided, then left with a short ‘Wait here’ and returned a few seconds later with a blood pack for him to slurp on.

“Thank you, dad,” he replied playfully, almost toppling over to the side when she shoved his shoulder and then hurried to stabilize him again. Simon just chuckled to himself, while she scowled.

“Talking about dads,” Lily began, “Alexander Lightwood send me a message.” Simon really wanted to know how these two thoughts collided in her head, but refrained from asking, instead looked at her, unsure what she was trying to tell him. He didn’t know what sort of contacts Lily usually kept anyway. “How’d he get my number?”

“Oh. Clary probably gave it to him.”

“Why?”

Simon lifted his shoulders. “In case they need help? Didn’t Raphael talk to you?”

“Oh, he did,” Lily replied, watching him intently. “Said your friend may contact me. Didn’t expect it to be the Lightwood boy.”

“Me neither,” he admitted, busying himself with the blood pack to avoid her questioning eyes. 

Clary hadn’t really reacted to what he had said about that specific topic, so he didn’t know how she felt about it. She might have given Alec the number because she had left for Idris. The only message Simon had received from her ever since that talk had been to let him know she was off and couldn’t be contacted via phone. A fact Simon had already known from her previous trips. He assumed, she was going out of her way to let him know that she was not avoiding him.

“I told her it would be better if Alec contacts the clan,” he explained, unwilling to go into more detail. “You know, as he’s something like a leader? I never understood what his position was exactly, because it seemed like he was leading the whole joint but then things happened and anyway, he’s more knowledgeable anyway so, why not.”

“I see,” Lily said with an undertone that suggested that she _did_ , more than Simon wanted her to, but it didn’t exactly surprise him. She had led a long life and her experience showed at every turn.

Lily wasn’t only tough but also very perceptive and smart. It made it hard for him to believe that she had been working under Camille for so many years. It was something he had pondered, once or twice, the same way he had wondered why Raphael had gone along with her stupid plans for however many years.

Watching the skin finally close at his ankle, he decided to just go for it and ask.

“So, I was wondering,” he started tentatively, unable the guess her reaction to his question. “I mean, you’re you, really amazing and all, and I wondered with Raphael, too actually, but why did you ever work for someone like Camille?”

Lily’s expression hardened for a beat, before it swiftly morphed into vague resignation. “Short answer, Camille hadn’t always been that way.”

“But you still worked for her, even after she changed?”

She looked at him without an ounce of shame or guilt, more curious at his questions with a hint of wry humor, like she thought Simon wouldn’t understand even if she explained.

“I was born during a time when women were objects owned by men. I was weak, unable to make my own decisions. All I wanted was flee that life, so I asked some vamps to turn me. Finally got a taste of freedom and it was scary.” Simon frowned at her, unsure what century or country she was from, but knew enough about her to make an educated guess. “Took me a while to realize I simply traded one oppressor for another. But I had strength, speed and Encanto to get me whatever I wanted. Wandered the world until I met Camille. She took me under her wing, taught me everything I needed to know and more.” Lily’s lips were curled into a gentle smile, her eyes distant as she was recalling the memories. “You should have seen her back then. She used to be so different. Lively, bright, curious. She loved music, was well-read, educated and smart. But what impressed me more was how much respect and power she commanded. Especially as a woman.”

Simon tried to picture Camille in the way Lily described, tried to combine what little he had seen from her, bitter, shrewd and manipulative. Certainly, he could get behind most of it, but what gave him pause was the lively and curious.

“She gave me purpose and a place to stay. I followed her wherever she went, did whatever she asked me to. But gradually, she changed. And I changed with her. Got bored, stopped caring, did whatever I wanted and Camille… she was just chasing thrills by then. One after the other but nothing ever excited her anymore. Eternity changes you, Simon.” Lily looked at him earnestly, like she was willing him to understand and be prepared. “She wasn’t the only one. Many followed her hoping she would bring an end to that infinite boredom. Frankly, I was fed up with everything. The only reason I stayed was the safety of being in the clan but even that stopped looking appealing in light of everything going on in the hotel at that time.”

She huffed, lifting her shoulder and spread her hands before her. “And then I met Raphael.” She chuckled at the memory. “Sees Derek and me feeding on a human. Gives us a speech like he’s been part of the Shadow World for more than a century when it had been maybe a week. He always had a way with words even as young as he had been back then. They worked, at least for me,” she admitted with a crooked smile. “Same story as with Camille. Would have followed him wherever he went. When he decided to work under Camille, I stayed too. We worked to keep the clan as save as possible under Camille’s increasingly reckless leadership.” Her expression was almost shy, hesitant, when she looked at him again, and Simon was confused until he heard her next words. “He made me care again, try to be better. I fell in love, got rejected. Worked through that, and since then I’ve been trying to do everything in my power to support him. Even if it meant playing a waiting game and going along with Camille. Why Raphael decided to stick with her, I guess that’s something you have to ask him.”

Simon stared at her, wide eyed.

There was so much in that story. So many more important things than the one his brain decided to latch on but he couldn’t help himself when he exclaimed, incredulous. “He _rejected you_?”

“Priorities, Simon,” Lily said with an amused chuckle.

“No, no, no. He _what_? _You?_ ” He continued to stare at her in disbelief.

“I’m telling you my life story and that’s what you fixate on?”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but that just sounds so… who the hell wouldn’t want to date you?” He winced at his own wording, hoping he wasn’t belittling her feelings with the subpar phrasing.

“Oh, are you offering?”

Simon spluttered at her questions, shaking his head viciously when words failed him.

“See, there’s your answer.”

“But that’s… I mean… It’s like. It’s not the same! You’re not in love with _me_!”

“Baby, you wouldn’t even know unless I spelled it out for you. You’re dense that way.” Simon squinted, slightly offended while trying to recollect their every interactions to figure out if there was anything to her words, but came up empty. She reached out, tussled his hair fondly with a smirk. “But you’re right. I’m not. I wouldn’t have long lost my patience with you if I were.”

“Good,” he replied seriously. “Because you deserve someone amazing. Obviously not me. Or Raphael. Idiot. He probably has some really unrealistic standards or something.”

She chuckled at his words. “More like he doesn’t have any.”

Simon gave her a look that hopefully conveyed his scepticism accurately enough. While he wasn’t sure how high Raphael’s bar really was considering that he had never seen him with anything close to a lover, he highly doubted he would just bed whoever came along.

Lily shrugged. “He told me he’s not interested in it in general. Romance, sex, relationship, not his thing.” Simon blinked at that, then a silent ‘ohh’ left his mouth when it clicked. “Well, used to at least. As we learned, people change. Might learn something new about themselves. Even old men like Raphael,” she added with a mischievous smile, that dropped abruptly as her expression darkened. “Don’t know if he would even want to act on it, though, if it ever came to it. With Camille alive.”

Simon was quick to pick up what she was implying, as hypothetically as her thoughts were. Camille was a threat, even in Idris, thanks to her vast connection and influence and who knew what plot she was hatching to get revenge while in her prison cell. 

It was one of the things that had started to bother Simon as soon as his knowledge about vampire culture had grown to a more profound level: why Raphael had locked Camille away instead of killing her. It would have made his life so much easier, especially considering the vampire tradition that explicitly stated that a vampire killing the clan leader was automatically becoming the new leader. Why bother with all the crap he got from the Clave, when killing her would have made him instant leader and removed the danger she was? 

Simon, during all his time in the clan, had come up with several reasons, but none sitting exactly well with him. Maybe Raphael had kept her alive, because of his high moral standard. Because a lot of vampires in the clan had been sired by Camille and would have felt the pain of her dying. Because Raphael was religious and hadn’t wanted to spill unnecessary blood. Because Camille was still powerful with a wealth of knowledge that could prove useful in the future.

Another thought nagging at the back of his mind related directly to Magnus. Simon had seen how much the warlock had struggled to help them catch and deport her to Idris. Back when Simon had asked him for help, he hadn’t known any details about their past. Now that he did, he regretted bugging him so carelessly when even Raphael had seemingly held back on account of their friendship even with the clan in peril. It showed how much Raphael treasured the few relationships he had with other people, made Simon assume that he had kept her alive to spare Magnus another death to mourn. Maybe Lily’s feelings had factored into that decision as well. As poisonous as Camille’s existent in their lives had been, whatever kind of person she had used to be had left a great impression on them nevertheless and still lingered in their hearts.

It was kind of ironic, that the two people working so hard to protect the clan, had a weakness that could destroy everything they had built in a heart beat. Part of him was angry that Lily and Raphael were putting themselves in such a dangerous situation. Sure, Camille was in Idris right now, but she was a wicked woman. The fact that the Clave still hadn’t officially acknowledge Raphael as clan leader wasn’t only simply insulting, but also an indication that someone was probably pulling some strings for her. Something Lily and Raphael must be aware of as well. 

“I think we should continue training,” Simon announced apropos of nothing, wiggling his feet to make sure that everything had healed.

Maybe, he thought sullenly, the protectors of the clan needed someone to look out for _them_ , when they failed to do so for themselves. Simon might not have their experience, strength, speed and knowledge, but at least he wasn’t emotionally connected to Camille apart from some lingering hate for killing him. If they decided to keep her alive, no matter the trouble, he would have to learn to protect them and he couldn’t do that by licking his wounds and letting everyone take it easy on him.

Lily tilted her head in confusion at his sudden change in topic. “Baby, I think you’re missing the point.” 

“No, I think I can relate,” he insisted. “On another level, but I get it. She used to be important to you, something happened and she changed, but that doesn’t make your feelings go away. I went through something similar once.” With his mother, was what he didn’t add, because it was far removed from what Lily had gone through but still had the same feeling to it, the same bad aftertaste, pain of betrayal clashing with the hope of returning back to the way things used to be and resignation that it was never coming back.

Lily continued to watch him for a moment, before she huffed a sigh. When she stood up from her sitting position, she pulled him along.

“No holding back on me this time,” he demanded, hoping he wasn’t going to get in over his head.

“What makes you think I did before?” she asked with a smirk that let him know that he was in deep shit now. He stopped the groan threatening to spill out because he had asked for it, it was what he wanted. 

He was going to be in so much pain, he just knew it.


	11. Feels Like I'm Falling For The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon finally meets Maureen, then learns more about Raphael than he'd bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next where supposed to be one. I was told that long chapters are a nono several times by now, so I split it in two.
> 
> Title from Barkenaked Ladies "Falling for the first time".  
> 

It must have been divine providence. Stars were aligning. If Simon decided to play the lottery that day he would undoubtedly win and come out a rich man, because finally, after weeks they found a day to meet. Simon only had to reschedule one prior engagement, that one being Arya’s vocal training, when Maureen told him one of her appointments had been canceled.

They agreed to meet at the cafe shop they had spent hours in writing their own songs. Maureen, never one to beat around the bush, jumped right into the matter at hand before they had ordered coffee. She wanted to get the uncomfortable part over and done with as soon as possible.

So Simon told her, as close to the truth as he could, that she had been right with her suspicion, that he had been sort of drugged that night.

Maureen admitted that she had thought that he had been acting strange, that she should have refused his advances, because he clearly hadn’t been himself. But she had assumed that his burst in confidence had been a direct reaction to her confession and not him being on drugs. After his weird behavior the day after, she worried she had taken advantage of him.

Simon made it worse when he tried to comfort her by letting her know that he honestly didn’t remember anything from that night, only the day after when they had woken up in her bed and the subsequent freak-out because he didn’t know how to handle the situation.

It made it worse.

She looked miserable, sad and resigned, her scent souring at his words.

Simon didn’t know what to say to make it better.

Maureen played with her cup, turning it around on the table, taking a sip before sighing. “How are things with your new band?”

“My new band?”

“The one you have been touring with.”

He blinked at her stupidly.

A flicker of a smile crossed her lips, forced and pained. “It’s fine. I met your mother and she asked me how our tour was going. I told her our band broke up months ago. So you are touring with another band now? That’s good. You’ve always been too good for our us.”

“When…” Simon started, clearing his throat. “When did you meet her?”

Maureen knitted her brow. “Long ago. May I think?”

That meant his mother had known Simon had been lying to her for months now. He tried to recall the few times they had been talking about the band, his mother asking him how Maureen was doing and how she was coping with the stress of touring. It had always been his mother dropping the names of his former band mates, while Simon vaguely replied with empty phrases, not willing to get deeper into the lie.

Sighing, Simon pondered back and forth over his answer. “There’s no band. I mean, not really. I haven’t been touring,” he admitted quietly, eyes fixed on his coffee, wondering if he should take a sip just for appearance’s sake.

“So you don’t have a dashing and charming band manager, then?”

Simon huffed a laugh. “That asshole,” he muttered, not even hiding the smile, when he looked at Maureen and noticed the fraction of amusement in her tired expression. “Raphael, no. Not a band manager. He’s…,” Simon fiddled with the napkin, tearing it into tiny pieces. “After I was drugged, things got weird. I got hooked, you might say.”

Very liberal phrasing for what went down, but he really didn’t know how to explain it to her without saying too much. Technically, it wasn’t _wrong_. Maureen moved her hand close as if she had intended to take his hand but decided against it, bringing it down in the middle of the table. Simon tried to ignore the gesture. A year ago she would have grabbed his hand in comfort without stressing over it.

“You got addicted?”

Simon shrugged, which was enough of a reply for Maureen.

“So the past year?”

“I… uh… rehab. Social reintegration… more or less.”

God, this was harder than he had expected. By now he wondered if he should have stuck to the touring act, but Maureen would have seen behind his lie easily. She was also better at using the internet than his mother was, so if she tried to find him anywhere she would have come up empty. No advertisement for their tour or anything.

This was as close to the truth as he got, without spilling the beans completely.

“Does Clary know?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, she… she sort of introduced me to Raphael. They made an arrangement, and he took me in.” Sort of. “He’s been helping me since then.” The time he fucked up notwithstanding but Maureen didn’t need to know the details anyway.

“So he’s a social worker?”

He bit back a laugh at that. “No, he’s, well, let’s say, he’s someone who knows what it's like. From my side.”

Maureen wrinkled her brow. “I guess people with the same experience know more about overcoming certain hurdles.” Simon knew that the sharpness in her voice was from her worrying about him and not her judging Raphael, but he still felt bad for painting the Latino in such unfavorable light.

“There are others,” he continued. “Who helped me. Are still helping me. They have been great.”

“A support group, that’s good.” She nodded to herself, looking at him like she was proud of him. “I’m sorry for what you had to go through, Simon. I feel like I should have been there for you. Should have been a better friend.”

“That’s my line,” he said earnestly. “I had my head so deep up my own ass all I did was run away. From a lot of things.”

This time Maureen didn’t hesitate to put her hand over his. “I missed Clary and you a lot. I lost my two best friends and didn’t know why. Or what was going on. Clary didn’t even answer her phone when I tried to reach her. At first I was so angry and hurt. But then I was just sad,” she confessed, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for this. I told myself, if I didn’t get any reply, I would give up.”

“Again. My line. I should thank you for reaching out. I think… It’s shitty but I think I wouldn’t have. And Clary didn’t mean anything by it. She is dealing with some things herself.”

“I figured. I went by her house.”

Simon blanked out for a second until he remembered the state Clary’s home had been in, burned out, guarded by demons and other parties interested in the Mortal Cup. It was sheer wonder Maureen was still in front of him, if she really had looked for her friends there. It was also a testament to Maureen’s strength of will that she didn’t question him about that. That, or the knowledge that Simon wouldn’t give her a straight answer if she dared to ask.

Maureen let go of his hand, wrapped her fingers back around her coffee. There was a moment of thoughtful but companionable silence, before she broke, plastering a smile on her face, wider and more genuine now. “Okay, tell me about your band.”

Simon sputtered. “Huh? I told you—”

“You said you weren’t touring and there wasn’t ‘really’ a band. You’re playing with someone?”

“It’s new,” he said. “Not a band. But there’s this guy, Derek, drummer. I had to practically propose to him so he would finally give in and play with me. He’s really good, like God-like good, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Maureen started to relax as time passed, Simon talking enthusiastically about Derek and Arya and other’s from the Dumort, falling into a rant about how Raphael had kept it a secret that he was playing the piano. Maureen laughed at his outrage, smiled happily when Simon revealed with a staged whisper, like he was letting her know a secret, that he was now the proud owner of a thick folder full with classical sheet music. Before he chatted away about never letting Lily choose movies for movie night ever again, because she was a sadist out to torture everyone with cheesy rom-coms.

Maureen in turn offered to teach Arya some tricks for singing, then told him about the new bass player in their band, hesitantly at first, as if she was trying to spare his feelings. Simon reassured her that everything was fine. It was. It still stung a little. She stressed that the girl was young but incredible with lots of potential. And was playing a five-stringed bass at which Simon faked a gasp in horror.

Maureen talked about her dog. Her boyfriend. Her family. Classes. Learning groups. Common and every day life issues that were reassuring in their ordinary fashion. Simon realized his life wasn’t that different to hers, apart from his condition. He was talking about his family, hobbies and friends, too.

Talking with Maureen like that, joking and teasing each other, it felt like a piece from the past slid back into place.

They parted shortly before midnight, with a promise to keep in touch this time around.

As soon as Maureen vanished around a corner, Simon’s smile gave way for a frown.

There was something he had to do.

“So, apparently my mom met Maureen and Maureen told her that I’m not in their band anymore. You know, the band my mom had assumed I was touring with, when you told her that little lie,” Simon disclosed as he entered the office without forewarning. Not that Raphael needed any, really.

Raphael didn’t look up from the map of New York that took over the whole desk, running his fingers along roads and matching the distance to something on his phone. “And?”

Simon, who still had his hand wrapped tightly around the handle glanced curiously at the red circles on the map, before fully shuffling into the room and closing the door. At first glance, Raphael seemed to be in the middle of something and if it hadn’t been for Raphael’s reply, prompting him to continue Simon would have left and returned another time. “That means she knows I’ve been lying to her for months.” Raphael didn’t react, drew a circle around an intersection instead. “I want to tell her.”

With that, Raphael finally looked up.

“Listen, I know what you’re probably thinking, but let me explain.” Steeling his nerves, now that he had Raphael’s attention, Simon decided to run ahead, consequences be damned. “You see, my birthday was crap. Not the part with you guys, that was amazing. But when I was at my mom’s it was agonizing. You see, Hanukkah is coming up. And my mom and sis will expect me to be there. There will be food. Lots of it. And whatever excuse I’d come up with for not showing up won’t be good enough. And I just—I just don’t want to lie anymore. When I thought she didn’t know, it was sort of fine, you know. The whole ‘what the eye doesn’t see and so on’. But she does. And now I know she knows. So I—I mean, I was hoping you might come with me, so maybe _we_ could swing by? To tell her.”

Raphael’s expression didn’t seem to betray his opinion, but Simon was busy steadily working himself up to a full blown panic attack with every word that awoke another horror scenario of things going wrong, so he neither had the time nor the patience to decipher minuscule face muscle communication to begin with.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Simon pressed forth desperately, trying to find the words he had told himself a dozen times on the way back to the Dumort. Realizing his hands were shaking, he buried them in his pockets. “My mom… Okay, so, I know my mom loves me. And this lying is probably hurting her. But she’s also fragile. You know, when my father died, she didn’t handle it well. She got into the habit of drinking. Was irrational, yelling and screaming—”

Raphael was suddenly at his side, one hand at his shoulder as he was gently nudging him to sit on the couch. Simon choked out a laugh. “Well, that had gone better in my head.”

“Want to start over?” Raphael asked calmly.

Simon threw his hands in the air, let them fall back into his lap. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t want to hit you with my origin story like I’m some tragic superhero, anyway. Wasn’t planning to say that _at all_.”

“It’s fine.”

Simon’s head snapped up. Raphael looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Not on a couch in a closed room with an emotional unstable Simon Lewis, a sort of deer in headlights expression on his face. The Raphael Santiago version of it anyway, which appeared to be only slightly wider eyes tracking all possible escape routes. However, he haltingly reached out for one of Simon’s hands, and after another moments hesitation, began to draw reassuring circles with the thumb on the back of it. When Simon focused on the gesture, his movement stopped.

“It’s not bad,” Simon stumbled over his words, as he tried to find a none-pathetic way to convey how welcome the gesture was. “Keep going, please?”

Raphael furrowed his brow, before he moved his thumb again, a question in the feathery touch that answered itself as it grew more assertive when Simon began to relax.

“I’m a mess,” he started again. “We both know that. When I’m alone with my mom, I’ll just freeze up, and I’ll start to ramble and confuse her. She’d be more likely to call the doctors than believe me. But you, she knows you, _likes_ you, has been bugging me to make you come over. You’ll be able to smooth over whatever I’m messing up. You’ll find a way to fix whatever I’ll break, I know it. So please come with me.” A shaky breath left his lips as he tried to hide his head between his shoulders in embarrassment at his wimpy request. “I really need you for this.”

They were silent.

Raphael wasn’t looking at Simon, instead had his eyes intently focused on their hands, when he finally spoke up. “You won’t like what I’m going to say.”

Simon’s heart sunk to his stomach. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m just being stupid. ‘course you don’t need to come,” he rambled, starting to get up, but was held back with a tug.

“Not that. I’ll accompany you, if that’s what you want. I don’t think you should tell her. Everyone who gets tainted by the Shadow World will be swallowed up by it sooner or later. Do you think she’ll be able to handle this?”

“I don’t know.” Simon let his thoughts wander, remembering how he had been helpless and overwhelmed, but stubbornly and stupidly determined to protect Clary from whatever without knowing what he was getting himself into. “I think she needs to know. This is not going away. She’s going to realize that I don’t age. I mean, how many years can I go before they start asking questions?”

“Ten years max,” Raphael supplied helpfully.

Simon stared at him, opened his mouth before closing it again. Raphael didn’t like talking about himself, least of all about something that personal but Simon still wanted to know. So he swept every bit of remaining courage together. “What did you do? After you were turned?”

Raphael didn’t reply immediately. Simon almost didn’t expect an answer anymore, hadn’t expected one to begin with and barely hid his surprise when Raphael answered. “I went back to my family,” Raphael said with a wry smile, pulled the necklace he always worn underneath his clothes out and showed it to Simon. “I learned to wear the cross my mother gave me so we could pretend nothing was wrong with me. Apart from my severe case of sun allergy and my very selective diet, of course.”

Simon’s eyes darted back and forth between the cross and Raphael’s face, poking a finger at it before reeling back at the slight burn, because yes, that still fucking hurt and Raphael was wearing it around his neck all the time.

Raphael shrugged, tugged the cross back. Simon winced at the sound of burning flesh. “I stayed a few years, looked after my siblings, recited el padre nuestro every evening to appease my mother. When my youngest brother was old enough and our neighbors couldn’t ignore my unique aging deposition anymore, I left.” The Latino huffed, staring at the wall, sounding more annoyed than sad as he recalled. “I joined Camille. The Dumort is close to East Harlem, were my family used to live. I thought, if I knew what was going on here, I could protect them even if I wasn’t there. Was killed here, might as well move in, I thought. The rest is history.”

Simon sat up straight, staring at Raphael. “You were killed here?”

Raphael hummed in confirmation. “I was arrogant. I knew that this place was bad news, but I still sneaked in.” It was all the explanation Simon got, and unsure how to reply, he remained silent. “You know the Accords regarding telling Mundanes?”

“Yeah,” Simon replied, thankful for the change in topic. “No talking about Shadow World unless unavoidable. Having her child turned into a vamp constitutes as ‘unavoidable’ I’m pretty sure. If not, I’m building a case on, what was it, chapter 210 section 13? You know, the one that says something like it’s safer for them to know because of exposure or whatever.”

“Alright,” Raphael said after a pause, “let me know when you want to do it.”

Simon nodded, reluctant to remove his hand out of the other’s grasp, feeling like this was the only thing holding him above water right now, but still moved to get up. Raphael tightened his grip, held him back before he had a chance to untangle his legs. At Simon’s confused expression, the older vampire just cocked his head. “That origin story…”

“You want to hear about…” He didn’t continue, confused and overwhelmed at the same time.

“If you don’t mind.”

Simon continued to stare at Raphael dubiously.

Simon wanted.

He wanted to explain why he was such a mess sometimes, why he had been so overprotective of his mother back when he found her with him. Why he thought she needed to know what was going on. Why at the same time he thought she might not be able to handle it. Why Clary was so important him and not just some stupid crush he used to have. Why Jocelyn and Luke had been as important to him as his own mother. Wanted to learn more about Raphael at the same time, hoping he was willing to divulge some of his past to him as well.

So Simon talked about his family. Talked about the difficult time they had gone through after losing his father. Talked about his sister. How she had been the one to take care of him, had made sure he always had breakfast and clean clothes to wear and done his homework when their mother was only either drunk or asleep. He talked about Clary and Jocelyn and Luke. How they had taken Rebecca and him in when they found out about their situation and even convinced their mother to get treatment, promising they were going to take care of her children until she was better.

He made himself comfortable on the couch during his monologue, sitting cross–legged and deep into the cushions, interrupting Raphael drawing patterns on his hand whenever his own index finger straightened to tentatively rub the still pulse point on Raphael's wrist in response. It was their only point of contact. To Simon it was comfort enough.

A couple minutes into Simon’s ramble, Raphael abandoned all pretense of posture, pulled one foot up to the couch, slumped over the knee with an arm wrapped around it, his chin resting on the cap. He watched Simon intently, expression open and curios as he sometimes offered pieces of his own history, not as abundant in detail as Simon, but enough to draw a picture. For Simon to understand that they both loved their family. That he missed his mother and siblings even after all these years.

Raphael had lived what Simon was going through right now. Not only Raphael. Most of the vampires in the hotel, probably. Everyone had been in a similar situation, related to how helpless, conflicted and afraid he felt. Simon took comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone with this, that he was surrounded by people who understood.

One of these days, he was going to find a way to thank Raphael for what he had attempted to do after Simon had been turned. The help he had offered, which Simon had spit on, words twisted in their meaning by his hate for what he had become and what Raphael was. Advise he hadn’t seen, cloaked as it was by Raphael’s teasing or brutal honesty, something he had interpreted as cocky, brash, uncaring and haughty.

Now he knew better. Let himself see the glee in the other’s eyes, the slightly relaxed shoulders, the satire in his exaggerated motions and dramatic acting, when he played the perfect stereotypical vampire in front of outsiders. He saw the honest care under blunt words, not meant to hurt but to help.

Simon wondered when he had learned to read Raphael’s body language and expression, or if Raphael was letting himself be seen in a way he hadn’t before. Something warm was festering in his gut at that thought. Unsure how to interpret the feeling at that moment, he decided to ignore it, instead revealed his grandmother’s love for kaszanka, which was something he had always hated with a passion.

After Simon explained, that it mostly consisted of pig blood and barley, Raphael's lips twitched at the irony. Simon followed with a laugh of his own, when he realized it a second later.

They talked quietly for a long time, their conversation fading out at times as both chased their own thoughts before picking up the resting thread again. Every now and then a low hiss left Raphael’s lips, piercing through the amiable silence between them. A warning, Simon noticed in confusion. It took him quick steps ebbing away to realize that Raphael was keeping other vampires at a distance.

Of course, even on slow days, Lily or Elliott came barging in frequently to discuss matters. Simon didn’t know how much time had passed exactly, but was sure under normal circumstances one or the other would have marched in at least once by now.

Simon huffed at his own ignorance, glancing at the map still spread out over the desk, abandoned for his trivia. He shifting his legs, preparing to get up. “I should let you get back to work,” he said, trying to go for nonchalance but ran full throttle into morose. He couldn’t have missed harder if he had tried.

“Yeah, no,” Raphael snorted, letting go of his hand as he stood up in one fluent movement. “We’re taking a night off.”

Simon frowned, but Raphael only beckoned him to follow when he opened the door to the hallway. Lily must have heard it opening, as she appeared next to them in the blink of an eye. She got as far as opening her mouth, when Raphael started talking. “We’re heading out.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “Unless it’s important?”

“Nothing that can’t wait a few hours,” she replied with a shrug, her eyes flitting back and forth between them. “Have fun. You both deserve a day off.”

Raphael led them into the underground garage, where the cars of the clan members were parked. Though they were rarely used only for emergency cases when they needed to move during the day. Simon had yet to witness that kind of emergency and was honestly not looking forward to it. Simon’s van was parked among them and he shot her a wistful look as he passed by. By now, running was faster than driving, so she didn’t see a lot of action.

Along one wall of the garage was a row of motorcycles. Simon didn’t care for the vehicles but knew that a few clan vampires treasured them like a child.

Simon let out a noise of surprise when he realized why Raphael had brought him there. “You have a motorcycle?”

“Several.” Raphael walked over to the end of the row with very shiny, very expensive looking machines, before continuing, “Cruiser, moto, adventure or super?”

Simon had no idea what he was agreeing to but replied anyway. “Adventure?”

Raphael smirked in reply.

Unsure what that meant, Simon decided to go scared by default.

They stopped in front of a bike painted in red, white and black. Written on the side were the letters E Twin in graffiti artwork. Compared to the other motorcycles in the garage, it appeared more slender and shorter, looked more light a lightweight version. However the artwork was intriguing, with bi-colored tires, tubes painted in dark gray and dotted background to the graffiti.

Raphael ran his fingertips over the seat and the bike came to life with something that sounded like a metallic pitter-patter. For some reason, Simon had anticipated a roar, or at least something definitely louder.

“Limited Edition, about a hundred were sold in North America.” Raphael sounded proud. Simon forced his mouth closed at the look the Latino was giving the machine, the almost indecent way he let his fingertips run over the metal.

“So that’s your passion. Motorcycles.”

Raphael shrugged, kicked the stand up and maneuvered the bike with practiced ease out of the parking spot. The garage door opened on automatic and Raphael seated himself on the bike. He looked right at home, muscles in his in body tightened as he held the weight of the machine on one leg, throwing an amused look back at Simon. “You gonna join me?”

Simon sputtered in reply. “What?”

Raphael inclined his head in invitation. “Hop on.”

“Have you met me? Are you sure that’s save for me?”

“Nothing’s save for you. You managed to cut yourself with kid’s safety scissors just yesterday.”

“That’s what I’m saying! What makes you think I’ll survive this?”

Raphael shifted back on the seat, leveling the bike so he could place both feet on the ground then threw his head back and stared at the ceiling, muttering something in Spanish that sounded suspiciously like ‘Lord give me strength’.

“I’ll drive very, very slowly for you.”

Simon eyed him cautiously, then gave a sigh because frankly, he had decided to get on the second Raphael had asked. Clary had told him how she had taken a spin on a demonic bike with Jace before, but he mostly just remembered his jealousy, not what she had talked about in excitement. He never expected Raphael to own one himself, let alone more. On the other hand the jackets should have really tipped him off, though. It also explained the smell that followed Raphael back into the hotel on his rare solo trips outside. This was probably what he was doing.

“Alright, fine,” Simon said, like it was a chore.

With one fluent movement Raphael got off the bike and kicked the stand back down. For one panicked second Simon thought he had ruined it with his overthinking, but then realized that the older vampire walked over to a wall cupboard lined with helmets. He beckoned Simon closer with a gesture of his hand, his eyes assessing the helmets in all rainbow colors.

“Do we need these?” Simon asked, because hello, vampire. There wasn’t much that could kill them, but what might, surely wasn’t stopped by a mere helmet.

“If we’re taking the streets, we do. Also chocking on a fly? Not very graceful,” Raphael replied while handing him a helmet. Then helped him adjusting the straps, smirking at Simon’s undignified yelp when he accidentally zipped too tight.

“Comfortable?” Raphael’s voice was muted, like Simon was hearing through cotton candy but thanks to vampire senses he still understood everything perfectly. When they returned to the bike, Raphael took the helmet hanging from the handlebars, and sat back down while clasping the straps.

“So, hands and feet where?” Simon asked before he got on, looking at the motorcycle with trepidation.

The smile Raphael gave him was blinding, little as Simon could see through the lifted face shield. “It’s an adventure type. Should still be alright for double. I’ve never taken anyone with me before,” Raphael explained, frowning at the side of the bike, scooted a little forward and leaned down to pull out something like a lever on both sites. “Feet on the sidesteps, arms around my waist or on the tank. You don’t need to worry about the exhaust. It’s fueled by demonic power, so it won’t heat up.”

“Well then…” _Time to_ _really_ _die,_ Simon thought cheerfully as he sat down behind Raphael, fighting the urge to immediately jump off again, followed by a very long discussion with himself about appropriate physical closeness. The space between them was practically nonexistence, something Simon hadn’t contemplated when he agreed.

He took a very deep breath, before he finally wrapped his arms around Raphael’s waist.

“Bit tighter and lower.”

Simon closed his eyes, slowly counted to ten, then did as he was asked.

“Are you ready?”

“Probably not, but go?”

Instead of firing up the engine, Raphael turned his head. “You can say ‘no’.”

“It’s just my first time. Never done this before, no idea what to expect.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll trust you not to break me.”

“Wouldn’t even trust myself with that,” Raphael muttered. Before Simon had a chance to ask what he meant, momentum tore at his body, making him lose his balance for a second. With a startled yelp, he forced his upper body forward and strengthened his grip for more purchase. When he adjusted the pressure of his legs against the exhaust, he realized that his legs were too long, so instead pushed his feet harder on the sidesteps for more stability.

He almost missed Raphael’s voice over the wind and the sound of the motorcycle. “Tell me when you want me to slow down or stop.”

He nodded, then added an ‘okay’.

Raphael kept his word, driving slowly, giving him enough time to figure out how to balance his weight between seat, footrest and grip, moving his arms lower when Raphael told him to, and realized that the little space for seating wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had assumed. It was going fine until Simon tried to imitate Raphael by leaning into a curve the same way he did which startled a curse out of the other and a prompt request of not doing that again.

Simon actually started to enjoy it after a few minutes, daring to look around. Unsurprisingly, the view wasn’t much different from what he knew from driving his van. The only difference were the appreciative looks at them – the machine in all likelihood – he caught now and then. Simon, with his old van, as much as he loved it, was more used to annoyed glares at the exhaust or the space he occupied.

“Think you’re ready for the real thing?” Raphael asked when he stopped at a red light, easily holding their and the machine’s weight with both feet.

“Are you telling me this was just the prelude?”

Raphael turned his head back to him, eyebrows shooting up. “Baby, this is a demonic motorcycle. Do you think driving in circles is the only thing it can do? This was me being nice and letting you adjust.”

Simon’s brain went offline at the familiar nickname, because even though he really didn’t know why he would even keep track of that, this was the first time Raphael had called him by that name again ever since, and he was really getting sick of that point in time, Camille. “Well, then stop being nice and show me the world. Or whatever,” he muttered, then bit the inside of his cheek as he realized what had just left his mouth.

If Raphael had caught the reference, and Simon really hoped he had not, he didn’t let on. Instead he called ‘get ready’ and Simon, well, got ready for what was probably going to be the most horrible and humiliating experience of his undead life.

Or so he had assumed.

Until he realized they were going up and that was apparently a thing? Now he understood Clary’s excitement when she had told him about her experience. It wasn’t even comparable with what they had done to this point on the streets. First of all, Raphael was going much faster, but the drive was smooth and didn’t jostle him more than it did before. Secondly, it felt like flying, which, well because _they were_. He felt butterflies in his stomach, awe gripping at him as he watched the fleeting lights below and above them, losing all sense of time and space.

They were riding over Central Park, in the direction of East Harlem but the buildings were becoming a blur and everything was beginning to blend together in warped gray colors spiked with dotted fading lights. Simon shouldn’t look down, reminding himself that he wasn’t a fan of heights to begin with but he still did, mesmerized by everything becoming smaller the higher they went.

“Are you okay?” Raphael called through his admiration after what felt like an eternity and the blink of an eye at the same time.

“More than okay.” Simon was surprised that he actually meant it. Having Raphael as the driver was doing a lot to enhance the experience, he was sure. There was only a contemplative hum in reply. Simon was about to get back to appreciating the view, when the other spoke up again.

“So… you okay with more?”

Simon groaned, pressing his face along with helmet in the crook of the others neck and shoulder. “You’ll be the death of me,” he whined, amazed when he more felt than heard Raphael’s laugh. “What’s even more? Faster? Higher?”

“A few stunts? Nothing crazy. Can’t do much with a passenger, anyway.”

“Like a back flip or something?”

“Can do that, yeah.”

Simon pondered it for a second, but then decided he had come a long way and he had died once already and really, was there anything Raphael could do to top that? Even then, Raphael had probably done that a dozen times already and obviously survived.

“Next time, you show me what you can do without a passenger.”

“If you want.”

“Alight then,” he gave his permission finally. “Do your worst.”

Raphael only hesitated for a short moment, before he dipped the front of the machine down.

And then the engine stopped.

Simon was 22 years old, he had survived accounting, just to be abducted by vampires, killed, resurrected, and then forced to claw his way through dirt back to the surface. But nothing had scared him more than this moment of free fall. Not because he was falling down to earth at a speed that should by all means make him loose consciousness, but because after all these long months of getting used to an unbeating heart it felt like it was coming back to life, making its presence know by hammering wildly in his chest.

It scared him, because he had told himself that he didn’t miss it, that he was coming to terms with the changes, but now he knew that he was willing to chase this feeling over and over again like an addiction.

And then there was a sound he had never heard before in his life. The delight in Raphael’s voice as he _whooped_ was almost contagious. Endearing, full of joy, liberated and completely unexpected. Simon felt muscles tense under his hands as Raphael pushed himself in a stand on the sidebars, shifting his weight. Suddenly the bike flipped in a fast salto, momentum enough to keep Simon firmly anchored in place as he lost orientation.

Simon couldn’t even make sense of what he saw anymore. Steadily growing lights spun in the darkness, getting brighter and larger, as wind tore on his clothes and gravity forced them downward. His focus narrowed down to Raphael, his back against his chest, body under his palms, voice barely audible through the furious hissing of the wind but the only thing channeling its way through the lightheaded feeling spreading in his mind.

Then the whizzing of the engine sounded up again, sooner than he had expected, cutting through the static noise in his ears.

Simon almost expected the landing to be hard, forcefully dragging him back down to earth. Instead Raphael slowed them in a sweep until they gently fluttered down by rocking back and forth like a swing until the wheels hovered only a few inches above ground. The bike settled down with a scarcely perceptible bounce.

Simon was breathing harshly, swore he could still feel a lingering echo of his heart beating behind his rib cage. It was probably imagination, some weird phantom pain phenomenon, but he didn’t care. “That was,” he started, forehead pressed between Raphael’s shoulder blades. “Well, that was something.”

There was a hesitant pause, before Raphael spoke. “Good something?”

Simon laughed. “Oh yes. But I think my legs are shaking so much I can’t move. So can we stay like this for a moment?”

“Sure.”

It wasn’t only his legs. Simon’s hands were shaking where they were pressed against Raphael’s stomach, even though his fingers were tightly gripping into the fabric of the jacket. His head was mercilessly empty for the first time in a long while. Everything that used to be in his brain was probably blown out with that free fall.

“Okay, so we did that,” he said, when he had gathered his wits, pleased that his voice was steady again. “I guess next time you have to show me what going very, very fast means, when this was slow.”

Raphael snorted. “Didn’t break you, did I?”

“Barely.” Raphael tensed at his reply. “It was fun,” he assured quickly. “At the beginning I thought, there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to enjoy this. Boy, did you prove me wrong.”

Raphael relaxed, reclined against Simon’s chest. “A whole new world for you then? New fantastic point of view?”

Simon stiffened. Then groaned. Then laughed because Raphael was ridiculous. “You know what you just did? You just opened yourself up for sooo much teasing, you don’t believe it.”

“Nonsense. About ten years ago Sasha was obsessed with Disney. It was torture.” Raphael removed his helmet as he spoke, turned his head to glare at him over the shoulder. “Ask the clan. We all know the lyrics to _every_ song. Trust me, first note of ‘Hakuna Matata’ and there will be lynching.”

Something in Simon had probably died and gone to heaven during the drive. Hakuna Matata were never ever in a billion years words that should leave Raphael Santiago’s mouth, especially not with this utterly serious expression and in the same sentence with the word lynching, accentuated by a low, threatening growl. That wasn’t even the best thing though. Raphael’s hair was thrown in every direction, slightly curling above his forehead from condensation, the usually immaculate style completely ruined.

“This is gold. I can’t believe this. This is what I live for.”

“Weird,” Raphael frowned, but tone gentle before he shifted in his seat. “Now get up. We have to get inside.”

Simon’s head snapped up to look at the sky, surprised when he noticed the light blue hue raising in the darkness. He hurried to get off, managed to bump his leg at the slight upturn of the backseat, _of course,_ and already saw himself flat on the floor, but Raphael steadied him without a second thought and any effort at all, before he unseated as well. Obviously with more grace than Simon. While Raphael rolled the bike back into the garage and to its allocated slot, Simon closed the garage door.

Somewhere between that, Raphael must have noticed his disheveled look. When they met again at the door leading to the inside of the hotel, he had returned as much dignity as possible to his hair. Though there was no doubt, that he was going to vampire speed to his room so nobody bore witness to anything less than perfect. Which was why Simon stopped him before they entered the main part of the hotel.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

“For distracting me? Or cheering me up? Both?”

“I just didn’t feel like working,” Raphael replied with a shrug.

Simon huffed a laugh, but let it rest. “Well, lucky me, that it coincided then.”

Raphael smirked. “Lucky you, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was torn over the "helmet, no helmet" issue, because in the show obviously no one is wearing helmets driving a bike ever, because supernatural and glamour and whatnot, but whatever. Raphael is a stickler to the rules and the wind would've been worse for his hair. Anyway... just go with it... 
> 
> For those that care, the bike's design is a reference to the Hypermotard 950 RVE (as beautiful as it is impractical for double), but based on the Africa Twin (because this is useful for double, and the seat is low because Raphael really isn't all that tall, I think?). I know fanfiction but let's have some semblance of realism every now and then. (I have no idea how tall Raphael actually is.)


	12. All The Way Back Where I Come From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon tells his mother he's a vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels rushed (and I'm not happy with it). I could go on and on forever and had a lot in mind of what Simon's doing, more interaction with his mother and sister but this was getting too long as it was. I think I'll incorporate the ideas as bits and pieces in the following chapters. Maybe. Don't know. Anyway, I hope you like it!
> 
> I apologize if I got anything wrong with Jewish celebrations. 
> 
> Thank you all for leaving a comment or kudos! I didn't expect that much feedback and it makes me really happy. :3

They met Simon‘s mother and Rebecca the following weekend. Three days of Simon driving the other vampires up the wall with his constant worrying, practicing speeches, imagining every horrible scenario he came up with and describing them in detail to everyone who was passing by and didn’t get away fast enough. After he had scared the vampires into keeping far away from him, Simon resorted to calling Luke, then visiting him when Jacob kicked him out for a few hours because he was a distraction to _everyone_.

By the time the weekend arrived and they were standing on Simon’s front porch, he was a buzzing mess and Raphael tempted to knock him out cold.

Everything slowed down when his mother opened the door. She pulled Simon into a tight hug, crushing him for several minutes. “How long have you been out here? You’re all cold. Are you eating enough? You look so skinny and still so pale,” she said with all the mothering care she was unable to smother him with during his absence.

“He was always pale. Comes from staying inside all the time,” Rebecca’s voice called from inside the house.

“Raphael, so nice to finally see you again.” Elaine directed at the Latino with a fond expression.

Raphael, charmer that he was if he really wanted to be, took her hand with a wide smile. “Always a pleasure, Ms. Lewis,” he replied smoothly, leaking some of that enchanting Spanish accent into his voice. Simon half expected him to kiss the back of his mother’s hand.

“I told you, it’s Elaine.” Simon wanted to smack his forehead at the girlish chuckle she let out, her hand waving in a bashful gesture.

“Oh, who are you?” Rebecca asked, looking over her mother’s shoulder with wide eyes.

“Yes, introduction,” Elaine said hastily. “But let’s do them inside.” She stepped to the side to usher both men into the house and the dining room. “I know you said I didn’t need to cook, but I wanted to have at least a little something,” she continued, resting her hands on Simon’s shoulder for a brief moment before vanishing in the kitchen.

“Raphael Santiago,” Raphael supplied in the ensuing silence that was left in Elaine’s wake, offering his hand to Rebecca. “You must be Simon’s sister, Rebecca.”

“Just call me Becks,” she replied easily, her eyes pinned on Simon even as she returned the greeting with a questioning frown. “You are what exactly to my brother?”

“He’s Simon’s band manager,” Elaine explained, entering the dining room with a steaming pot and setting it on the table.

“Band manager? You can’t be older than 18.”

“Unfortunately, I’m stuck with a perpetual young face,” Raphael replied good-naturedly.

“Yeah, looks like he’s 15, acts like he’s 90. His real age is somewhere in-between,” Simon joked. That was something he could handle. Teasing Raphael was almost second nature to him and managed to pull him out of his internal freak-out instantly.

“Wow, getting into clubs must be a pain.” With that, Rebecca thankfully dropped the topic and sat down at their mother’s insistence.

From there it was surprisingly smooth sailing. Raphael kept the conversation flowing, exhibiting flawless manners, staying polite even at Rebecca’s increasingly personal questions. The conversation really wasn’t any problem. The eating was. Even though Simon had let her known beforehand that they didn’t want anything to eat, his mother had prepared a simple stew. Raphael was the picture perfect guest, complimenting Elaine’s cooking skills, eating everything she dished out for him, not even refusing her second helping.

Simon… Simon ate one bite and wanted to puke, though at this point he didn’t even know if the reason for that were his nerves or his new physique. Either way, him failing to eat didn’t go unnoticed. Not with Becks watching him like a hawk, shooting suspicious glances his way every now and again.

Raphael’s finger tips grazed along his thigh in encouragement. When they reached his knee cap, expecting the touch to disappear, Simon reached for the hand without second thought, interlacing their fingers to keep the contact. Raphael, posture stiffening at the unexpected gesture, stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. It took barely a second, before he regained composure, managed to overplay his conspicuous behavior and picked right up where he had left off. All that without glancing at Simon once.

Simon, embarrassed that he might have crossed a line there, was about to disentangle their hands, when Raphael already returned the gesture by squeezing lightly in reassurance, effortlessly keeping up with the topic of Elaine’s current charity work.

Taking a few quick breaths before faking cheerfulness, Simon began to clumsily eat with the left hand instead of his right. If either of the women noticed, they didn’t comment on it.

Luckily Raphael knew how to keep them entertained with stories about their living condition, never revealing too much, perfectly walking the tightrope between believable and super natural. Whenever Simon’s mother asked about the band, Raphael quickly found a way to divert her attention to another topic without answering the question. She must have caught on, though, because after a few attempts she stopped trying to get into this line of conversation. Another help was Rebecca being more interested in Raphael’s private than working life.

Simon shot her a warning glare everytime she tried to stir into ‘relationship territory’. Raphael, infuriating bastard that he was, took to her interrogation with the same wicked amusement he had to Derek’s fear of mice, confusing Rebecca by feeding her constantly contradicting answers until she pursed her lips in frustration and gave up. Instead, she turned her attention to Simon’s apparent lack of love life. It was better than her bugging Raphael. This was also something Simon knew how to handle: bickering with his sister.

After dinner his nerves flared up again, lighting up like a Christmas tree. Raphael’s polite inquiry of helping with cleaning up had been quickly rebuffed by both Lewis women as they made their way into the kitchen. So Simon excused them for a second, before high tailing out of the dining room, dragging Raphael upstairs. Before they reached his room, Raphael shoved him into the bathroom.

“Throw it up,” Raphael ordered, Simon barely on his knees.

That night Simon learned, that there really was no graceful way to puke in front of anyone, let alone your clan leader. Raphael keeping his cool hand at the nape of Simon’s neck, thumb caressing the skin and tickling the short hair there, made it a little less mortifying.

Luckily they had stew, but it was still disgusting. When he was finally done, Simon wanted to drink the whole mouth wash.

“What about you?” Simon asked as they stepped back into the hall, worriedly staring at Raphael’s stomach. He had to suppress the completely inappropriate and weird urge to poke his finger at it.

“I’m fine, it can wait.”

“Are you sure?”

Food was different for vampires. Some said it tasted like dust, other’s firmly believing it tasted like it was supposed to. Simon had tried it and decided, that it wasn’t that good if he had to deal with the aftermath, which was his body completely refusing the intrusion with violent spasms. Simon had never seen Raphael eat human food before, so he was decidedly worried.

“Do you still want to tell them?” Raphael changed the topic, using a neutral tone.

“They need to know, don’t they?”

“Only if you want them to.”

“I’m scared that someone will be after them because of me, and then they won’t be prepared. You know, like Clary and me.”

Raphael huffed. “You both didn’t know what you were getting into.”

Simon smiled, then pressed his lips in a straight line. “You’ll fix it right?”

“Am I allowed to use Encanto?”

Simon frowned at the question. Raphael disliked having to resort to this particular ability, however useful it was. “You really think it will be necessary?”

“I want to be prepared.”

“No, I’ll… I’ll do it myself. If there’s a need.”

“You know how?”

“I tried it on a snake once. It worked. Somehow.”

Raphael arched an eyebrow, then chuckled as he turned away. “A snake? Nothing surprises me anymore when it comes to you.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t need it.”

Raphael didn’t reply, just tugged at his sleeve to get them moving back to the dining room, where Rebecca and Elaine were talking quietly, mugs with coffee in their hands. Simon almost bolted when they both looked up at their return, but Raphael pressed his hand firmly on his lower back.

All the speeches and words Simon had prepared left the second he opened his mouth to address his family.

“Are you alright Simon?” Rebecca asked, tilting her head. Raphael watched him, not urging him to say or do anything, accepting no matter whether Simon decided to chicken out or barrel head first into chaos.

“I love you,” Simon started, meant for Elaine and Rebecca but his eyes on Raphael for support. Raphael cocked his head, pressed his lips together to refrain from laughing, the glee in his eyes betraying his amusement though. When Simon realized his faux–pas he quickly turned to his mother and sister, who both stared at him in confusion. “I mean, I love _you_ , mom, Becks.” He took a step forward, Raphael’s hand leaving his back as he stayed behind. “I love you so much.”

They began to look worried. “And… and I know I haven’t been around a lot, and I’ve been acting really weird and I’m so sorry for making you look after me all the time, and for worrying you so much and for leaving without saying anything. I know how horrible I’ve acted. But there’s something I need to tell you.” His hands started to shake.

“Simon?” his mother asked, her eyes traveling from Simon’s face to Raphael. “You don’t have to be afraid, no matter what you want to tell us.”

“It’s alright, Simon,” Rebecca confirmed, standing up to walk over to her brother. His mother followed quickly, taking his hand. “You can tell us anything.”

Simon took several steadying breaths. “I’m, well, it will sound strange but I’m… I’m a vampire.”

They were silent for a very long time. Rebecca was the first to speak. “Okay, I wasn’t prepared for that,” she said, appearing lost and confused. “I thought you were going—” Her hand vaguely gestured to her left, but she shook her head, let it drop. “Nevermind.”

“Vampire?” Elaine asked. “Is that something like a rank in a cult? Someone told me when their daughter started to act strangely, she had joined some sort of cult–”

“Uh, no mom, I’m literally a vampire. Like the one in the myths.”

They continued to stare at him in disbelief, and then simultaneously looked over to Raphael. “It’s true,” he confirmed with a nod, then opened his mouth to slowly let his fangs grow for them to see. Elaine dropped Simon’s hand like she was burned, taking a few steps back, staring at Raphael then back to Simon. She was slowly putting the pieces together, his sister too. From their expressions, it looked like they were going to react in different ways.

His mother with horror, his sister with pity.

“Oh Simon,” Rebecca said, suddenly rushing forward and pressing her ear to his chest, hands traveling over his arms. Her face fell with every missing heartbeat, crumbling to an anguished grimace until she pulled away. “Does that mean you’re dead? You died?”

Simon nodded slowly.

This got his mother out of her horror-stricken stupor, the scared expression instantly replaced by agony, as a tormented, strangled cry left her throat and she moved to pat him up and down as if checking for injuries. “Monkey, my baby,” she choked, “this is a very bad joke. You’re obviously not dead. You’re standing here.”

“Mom, listen to me,” Simon said patiently, taking her hand and placing it atop his heart. “I’m cold, I’m always cold. I don’t have a heartbeat anymore. I’ll never age. I can’t walk in the sun anymore,” his voice cracked at the last words, but Raphael moved closer again, not touching, but it was enough to steel his resolve. “After I was killed, I was brought back a vampire.”

Rebecca’s head snapped around, glaring at Raphael. “You,” she started, but Simon was quick to intervene. “No, he helped me. He’s been helping me ever since.”

“I don’t understand. You were killed?” Elaine was still patting all over his body. “Why—who would—my son, my baby.” It took his last bit of determination to keep his tears at bay, while his mom clung to him, mourning a son who had died but still stood before her, screaming and crying. Rebecca was just standing there, tears silently rolling down her cheek, before she crushed all three of them in a hug.

Simon didn’t know how much time had passed when he found himself with his mother and sister on the couch, Raphael in a dark corner of the living room, giving them as much privacy as he could while still staying in the same room as Simon had insisted with pleading eyes. He was looking outside the window into the garden, attention fixed on the swing.

“Raphael,” Elaine rasped, voice raw from crying. At that, Raphael turned and approached them silently, kneeling down in front of her. “You’re not really a band manager, are you?” There was a forced laugh at the end of the silly question, an attempt at lifting the heavy mood.

Raphael’s smile was sad as he shook his head. “I lied.”

“So, who are you?”

Raphael glanced to Simon, who nodded in permission. “Being a vampire isn’t easy,” he began to explain. “We have special needs, so it’s easier to stay together. We are living in so called clans. I’m the leader.”

Elaine let her eyes travel over his face for a long time. Without warning she reached out, tugged at Raphael’s jacket until he got the hint and removed it with a confused look at Simon. Then she was running her hands through Raphael’s hair, her expression furious, as she destroyed its neatly arranged style. Simon was flabbergasted at her actions until he realized what the intention behind her actions was.

Raphael had learned to mask his age as much as possible, with neat, expensive clothes, shoes with soles making him gain some inches, always walking straight with the shoulders pulled back to appear taller.

His real age showed as soon as he was stripped of that.

“I was 15,” Raphael offered to Elaine’s unvoiced question, stilling her hands and gently guiding them to her lap as she took in his face with a pained expression. Simon couldn’t tell what was going through her head. Rebecca watched Raphael with the same sad look on her face.

It was a tragedy, probably. Dying so young. Simon had never thought about it, had never seen it that way, because even without the functioning body parts, they were still there, more or less alive. He had never wept his own death, not contemplated the dying part of becoming a vampire. His mother and sister appeared to be the opposite. Considering the trauma involved, maybe rightly so.

“Your poor mother,” Elaine finally said. “A parent never should outlive her children.” She shook her head, suddenly sitting straight, as if she had come to a decision. “Vampire.”

Simon nodded.

“But you’re still my boy. You’re not… not a monster. You were nervous, but you were my Simon, the whole evening, today, the days before. Nothing has changed.”

A lot had changed, Simon thought, but didn’t know how to answer, so he half-shrugged, half-nodded.

“You were eating, not a lot, but you were eating,” Rebecca finally spoke up. “So all the things we know, like having to drink blood and killing humans, that’s all bullshit?”

Elaine’s eyes grew wide at her words, as if she hadn’t even considered that. Simon tried to overlook his own hurt when she moved closer to Rebecca and away from him.

“Yes,” Raphael beat him to a reply. “We don’t kill anyone to survive. While we prefer our steaks rare or something more like, what was it, kaznaka?”

“Kaszanaka,” Simon corrected with a frown.

“Yeah, that. We don’t have to rely on blood. Can’t deny it’s better for us. Vampire lore is wildly blown out of proportion ever since the first Dracula movies. Rather sketchy.”

Simon watched Raphael as he was lying through his teeth without even blinking, but he wasn’t going to argue about that now. He wanted to be honest with his family, not starting another chain of lies. It had to wait though, they had time to resolve that issue later.

However, his mother appeared to relax a little.

“So all this time you were gone?”

“I was living with Raphael and other vamps,” Simon explained. “They were helping me cope, getting used to this. There’s… there’s a lot to get used to.”

“Don’t doubt that,” Rebecca agreed. She was taking it well, more uncomfortable and sad than shocked or scared, though there was confusion all over her expression.

“Now you’ve learned… to cope?” his mother asked, hopeful.

“I think, I mean… there’s a lot to learn, but yes, I think I’m good. Now.”

“So you can move back in?”

Simon froze at the question. He very deliberately did not look at Raphael, when the other stood up from his position on the floor and walked off, either to give them privacy or to go glare at something. This was not an outcome Simon had pictured. Even in his more optimistic musings they had ended with him back on the front porch, barred from entering the house ever again.

“No, I mean yes, but no. I mean, it’s not that easy.”

“So we have to keep the blinds down, what else is different?” Rebecca asked curiously.

Simon stuttered, unable to get a clear answer out. “Let me just, uh, talk. To Raphael,” he asked, pointing to the kitchen where he knew Raphael had disappeared to. Using vampire speed he dashed out of the room, stopped, and then sheepishly walked back in to the stunned expressions of Elaine and Rebecca. “Uhm… vampires can be… uh very fast,” he explained lamely, realizing that had probably done more to affirm his story than anything he had said before.

They nodded wordlessly. Simon stared at them awkwardly for another beat before he intentionally slowly turned around to seek out Raphael, who apparently had busied himself with cleaning and drying the mugs. With a hint of amusement, Simon noticed that his hair was back to the preferred style and Simon had to wonder if Raphael always had a comb at hand like those greasers from the 50s.

“One week,” he said without preamble. “Let me stay for one week. Just to make sure they understand. That they don’t go screaming for the hills. That they’re alright with this. With me.”

“Is that all? A week?”

“I never thought about moving back,” Simon answered truthfully. “I just wanted to visit without having to lie, which, well, I still have to.”

Raphael turned to glare at him. “She wouldn’t have been able to handle it. You know that our diet is the biggest problem.”

Simon resigned, lowering his head. It was true. Even Clary, who had made him this way, had needed a long time to stop looking at him in disgust, whenever he had been drinking in front of her. _Simon_ had needed a long time to adjust to this change. The need for blood was something he might be able to hide, maybe forever, or until they had gotten used to his undead life more.

“Level them in. Don’t throw them into cold water and expect them to swim,” Raphael said calmly. “Start with the lesser of our evils. Just make sure they understand the downsides and danger.”

“Thank you, Raphael.” The other tried to turn away with a huff, but Simon stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Honestly, thank you. Not just for this. For everything. _Thank you_.”

Raphael didn’t seem to know what to do with those words, like he wasn’t used to hearing them. Shrugging he turned away. “Take as much time as you need.”

Simon held back from thanking him again.

An hour later, after giving pointers on how to keep Simon save, what they had to be aware off, Raphael left. Simon watched him leave for the second it took him to vanish into the night, before he turned around to his mother and sister who were standing behind him, like they didn’t want to let him go, like he was just a dream.

He sighed, closed the door and, feeling a little forlorn, decided to head up to his room. The house was eerily quiet and he missed the usual lively buzzing of the hotel, the chatter and fights.

It was weird, being back to his old room. Even the neighborhood was quieter and calmer than what he was used to by now.

The freak-out happened the next day, when the sun was high in the sky. Simon sleeping peacefully in his bed, was woken by excruciating pain. Screaming and hissing, he escaped into the deepest corner of his room, Rebecca’s voice shouting through his disorientation. It took him forever to fight through the pain and grasp the situation.

Rebecca stood in front of the window, frantically pulling the blinds closed. His mother was next to her, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking. Simon looked down at himself. His hand and arm up to his elbow were almost burned to black and angry red marks sizzled upwards to his shoulder.

“Mom, what did you do? Why did you do that? Mom!” Rebecca’s angry words finally reached him.

Simon locked eyes with his mother, the pain evident in the single word he let out. “Mom?”

“I thought it couldn’t be true,” she gasped, dropping to her knees. Rebecca rushed down as well, throwing her arms around their mom’s shoulder, rocking and caressing her. Simon continued to hide in the corner, even though the sun had been banished by his sister. He wasn’t sure what happened if he moved, how his mother would take it, so he just stood and waited, suffering more from emotional than actual pain.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” his mother wept, words turning into indistinguishable mumbling as he kept on.

Sighing, Simon pushed the heavy pain to the back of his mind, slumping against the wall. “Should I not have told you?”

“What?” Rebecca asked, as his mother stilled.

He watched them, a forced smile on his face. “I can make you forget, if you want. I mean, Raphael probably should do it. He’s better at this.”

His sister’s lips moved, as if repeating what he had said, before she shook her head vigorously. “No, Simon. No! This is part of who you are now. There are other things I would love to forget, like my ex, but not this.” Her voice was determined, heartbeat fast but nothing to disprove her words.

“Mom? Do you want to forget?” He asked her calmly, looking down at her still bowed head.

Her long silence was interrupted, when she looked up, anger burning behind her eyes. “Never ask me that again,” she snarled, then stopped herself, deflating. “Don’t ever ask that again.” Slowly, she picked herself up and approached him, sadness twisting her expression when he flinching away in fear. She stopped, gently reaching for his burned hand, pressing it between her own. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, monkey.”

Simon watched her, trying to believe her sincerity, but too much reminded him of the past, of when he had been little and Rebecca had shouldered the burden of raising him, while his mother screamed at them one minute and then turned around to apologize over and over again.

“It will heal,” he offered, offhandedly. “One of the perks of undead life. Healing abilities.”

“You’re a vampire.”

“I am. So please, don’t ever do that again.”

“My son’s a vampire,” she repeated, her voice breaking at the end. Then she laughed, followed by a strangled sob. “Simon, you are a vampire.”

“I am a vampire.”

She let go of his hand again, glanced at him with lifeless eyes before leaving the room. Rebecca dithered on the spot, looking back and forth between them. Simon nodded in the direction of their mother to save her some misery. Picking up on the gesture, she left the room, but not before giving him a one armed hug, making sure to avoid the burn.

As soon as she was gone, Simon sighed loudly, got his phone from the nightstand and sent Raphael a message to let him know he got burned a little, nothing bad, just in case something of his turmoil had leaked out to the clan through the bond. He didn’t receive a reply but an hour later Tamara suddenly turned up at their door step, asking for him. Rebecca had been hesitant in letting her in, until Simon told her that she was a friend. Tamara was in his room before Rebecca had a chance to give her directions.

“I was told to make sure you weren’t in trouble,” Tamara explained shyly as she handed him a bag at the same time Rebecca entered the bedroom behind her, frowning at them.

“Yeah, I was just stupid,” Simon explained with a cheerful laugh, vaguely gesticulating at his arm. Tamara winced when she saw the still black skin, now beginning to flake under the straineffect of strenuous healing.

“You need to cover the windows,” she exclaimed unprompted at Rebecca. Simon felt weirdly touched at her protectiveness, as unfounded as it was in relation to his sister, which he tried to let her know, but she ignored him as she continued. “I know it takes time to get used to. But it’s very important. He could have lost his arm, worse, he could have died if the sun had reached his heart.” She obviously knew what she was talking about, considering how often Daniel stayed with her ever since they had started dating. Maybe having her meet his family was a good thing. She could give them advice on stuff even Simon hadn’t considered. Well, if he got his mom to accept his condition.

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably at her words, then lowered her head in shame and nodded. “We’ll get to it.”

Tamara nodded, the fight leaving her body as she was reeking of embarrassment at what she probably considered an outburst.

“Thanks for coming over,” Simon said int the awkward silence.

Tamara dimpled shyly at him. “Anytime. You had a lot of people worried. Me included.”

“Did they… you know?” he left the question open, unsure how much Daniel had told her about the bond.

She frowned at him, unhappy. “I know Daniel did. He was staying over, called the hotel, asking what’s going on. Would have stormed out there if I hadn’t stopped him. He was expecting the worst.”

Simon hung his shoulders.

It was always the worst. While his clan bond with the warm feeling had simmered down to almost nothing at the distance, of course the bad emotions and feelings seemed to transcend any distance. Simon swallowed the irritation at that thought, knowing that it stemmed more from the throbbing of his injury, a reminder that this body didn’t only belong to him anymore, but to a lot of other people.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. But I better get back to Daniel now.”

Simon nodded, thanked her again. Tamara left with a long, pointed look at the uncovered windows in the hallway. When she was gone, Simon plopped down on his bed and went through the bag, while Rebecca walked her out, but returning shortly. At her questioning look, Simon lifted his hand. “Stuff to heal faster. How’s mom?”

“She’s sad, she hurt you,” Rebecca said. “It’s less about your condition. She’s just scared for you. I am too, you know? Scared. Not _of_ but _for_ you. I mean… you died, Simon. This might be weird to think about when you’re standing right in front of us, but _you died_. Something happened to you, and I wasn’t there to protect you and you… you died. And if it weren’t for you turning into a vampire, that would have been it. You would’ve been dead. Just like… just like dad.”

Simon rushed to pull his sister into a tight hug, resting his chin atop her head, as she wrapped herself even tighter around him, swallowing her tears.

“And _vampire_ _s_ are real. Seriously? What is this world? And don’t even think about ever making me forget, which we _have_ to talk about. And I want to hear, that is, if you remember and want to share, what happened to you. How you met Raphael. And that girl from now. About your world and your friends. I want to know all of that. You just have to give me time.”

Simon nodded his head in agreement to every word.

“Now go drink your blood. Don’t think I didn’t notice your look of disapproval when Raphael talked about your eating habits.” Rebecca Lewis was a trooper. She was a downright wonder and Simon knew, if it wasn’t for her he might have probably not even been around anymore, or at least not as the person he was. “I don’t mind that he lied, as long as that was the only thing he lied about. You don’t kill, do you?”

“No, we don’t,” Simon answered honestly, shaking his head. “We buy from blood banks, mostly animal blood.” He finally took a step back, reaching for the bag to get a blood pack out. To his surprise, Magnus’ ointment was also in there. “You might want to leave for this,” he advised. “It’s not pretty.”

Rebecca stood her ground, wrapping her arms around her torso, expression wavering between worry and anxiety. “I want to see.”

“Becks–”

“I want to see.”

“This is blood.”

“I’m aware.”

Simon grimaced, then slowly let his fangs down. Rebecca’s breath hitched, her eyes widening, but she didn’t move, didn’t even flinch when he bit into the blood pack, draining it slowly. He honestly hadn’t expected a blood delivery. Originally, he had planed to return to the hotel at night, when his mother and sister were sleeping, to feed and maybe get one or two packs, say hello to the clan and then get back before sun up.

He hadn’t accounted for his mother trying to kill him, though.

As he emptied the pack, Rebecca nodded once to herself, then left the room and began to cover every window without blinds with thick sheets. As if him drinking blood had finally convinced her of this new reality.

After sunset, Bernice and Arya showed up outside his window, staring at his still healing arm with concern. All that was left by now was some angry scarring, pinkish lines slowly fading on the new skin. The blood and ointment had help immensely in speeding the process up.

“Should’ve heard him,” Bernice said, sitting on his window sill, legs dangling in the air. Arya was sitting in his desk chair, spinning around with a squeal. “‘That stupid fledgling didn’t even last 24 hours.’” Bernice was really good at imitating Raphael, Simon had to admit. “‘The sun was up for two hours. _Two hours_.’ And then a lot of Spanish. And I mean, _a lot_. I don’t speak the language but believe me, I got the gist of it. Everyone is still afraid to cross his path. As soon as sun was down, Lily was the only one left in the hotel and even she keeps her distance.”

“Didn’t think, he’d get that angry.”

“He was concerned, like everyone else. Had Magnus already on the phone, when he got your message,” Arya said, barely hiding a laugh. “ _Then_ he got angry.”

“Let me reenact,” Bernice said, sitting up straighter, eyebrows drawn deep into a frown as she growled angrily. “‘What the fuck does he mean ‘got burned a little’? The fuck? This didn’t feel like some fucking candle burn. Does he think we’re stupid? Fucking asshole.’ Just replace the swearing with Spanish. I’m _sure_ it’s what it translates to.”

Picturing Raphael saying exactly that sort of destroyed half of Simon’s brain cells. Frankly, Simon didn’t know how pain related to the other vampires, if it was transmitted at the same value or depended on the strength of the bond. That time Raphael had been injured, he had prevented the pain leaking to others and apart from that, Simon had not experienced it himself yet, luckily. If Raphael had received half of what he had felt, Simon wouldn’t even know where to begin with apologizing, especially after he had downplayed it.

“I’m sorry,” Simon apologized earnestly. “I didn’t mean to scare or hurt you. How… uh… how did you take it?”

“I was sleeping and didn’t notice much,” Arya admitted truthfully, almost sounding apologetic. “I’m used to worse, actually.” Simon didn’t want to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole considering who Arya had bonds with.

“I woke up from Derek swearing like a foul-mouthed sailor. More than usual anyway,” Bernice replied. “He’s super pissed. I got the residue of it and it wasn’t pleasant. Dunno who had it worse, though, Derek or Raphael.”

“What even happened?”

Simon scratched his nose at Arya’s question, looking away. It was obvious from the left-over scars that the burn had been more than the result of a simple accident so lying was probably futile. “My mom opened the blinds when I was sleeping.”

Both women let out a noise of anger.

“It’s fine, we talked about it. She… she had a hard time coping.”

They didn’t seem happy with his reply, but at least didn’t go screaming bloody murder either. “When my parents found out, they wanted to burn me at the stake,” Bernice suddenly supplied. “Funny in retrospect. Even went out of their way to shelter me from the sun so the village could burn me at night like a witch.” Simon raised both eyebrows at her. “Wasn’t all that funny back then. My sire saved me. I lived with his clan for a bit, until I got bored and traveled around. I never saw my family again. Made sure no Mundane ever found out about it after that.”

“I never told my family,” Arya chipped in, pushing her feet on the ground to stop the spinning of the chair. “Made out with this really hot, gorgeous chick one night. Accidentally bit her lip. Turned her on so much she sort of lost it and drank me dry. Next thing I knew I clawed my way up, next to me a sobbing apologetic mess of a vamp feeding me dead animals. T’was sort of cute. She explained what happened. I went home that night and told my parents I was gonna leave forever. They were happy to have one less mouth to feed.”

Well, Simon honestly felt better after that.

“What happened to your sire?”

“Ohh,” Arya stretched the sound, chuckling to herself. “We traveled the world, fell in love with New York. Found a vampire clan and settled down.” Her hand playfully wandered along Bernice’s thigh, pinching her hip with a smirk. “That gorgeous vamp became an information broker and I joined Camille’s soldiers.”

“That’s ridiculously cute for vampire standards,” Simon had to admit, as he watched them. He had known that they had been together for a long time now, but had never heard anything about their backstory. He hadn’t even known that Bernice was Arya’s sire either.

“Seriously though, baby.” Bernice’s usual playfulness was gone in an instant. “You have to be careful around humans. Are you sure she won’t try again?”

“It won’t happen again,” Rebecca declared from the door, glaring at the two woman. “I heard voices.” She added as an explanation. “Vampire friends?”

“Ah, yes, Bernice and Arya, this is my sister Rebecca. Just call her Becks,” Simon introduced. Both gave a short wave in greeting.

“Nice to meet you.” Rebecca replied. “Mom’s preparing dinner. Do you want to stay and eat with us?”

Bernice shuddered. “Ah, I rather not. I’m not good at stomaching food.”

Rebecca furrowed her brow at that. “Is that a problem for vampires?”

Arya laughed with another spin on the chair. “Oh yes. Even Raphael was puking his brains out as soon as he got home. Dude has a death wish or something? How much _has_ he eaten anyway?”

Simon had known it! Raphael could act tough all he wanted but even he had to yield to their stupid bodies demands sooner or later. It would have been better to either leave right away or do as Simon had and throw up in their bathroom.

His sister’s frown turned into a scowl, then to worry. “I thought it just didn’t do much for you. I didn’t know it was actually _bad_ for you.”

“Bad,” Bernice emphasized with a nod. “Very bad. Don’t make our baby eat. He’ll has to puke it out.”

“Baby?”

“I’m the youngest, turning wise,” Simon explained.

Rebecca didn’t need any time at all to process and just gave a half–shrug. “Not the weirdest I’ve heard this week, I guess. I’ll just tell mom that vampires don’t have to eat often. That will get her off your back for a while. Will you still be down for dinner?”

“Sure, just give me a sec.” She nodded, turned around and went downstairs to join her mother with preparations. “Will I see you later at the hotel?”

“Nope,” Arya said, “You’re on vacation until, what was it? After Hanukkah?”

“That’s weeks away. I wouldn’t be back for almost a month.”

“A lot of time to enjoy family time!” Bernice exclaimed, then paused. “Unless you don’t feel save here? I mean, no one’s going to kick you out if you want to return. It’s just… A lot of us would’ve been happy to stay with our family. And I think they need you now. It reeks of sadness and anger. Not a good combination. So don’t worry about us. The hotel won’t go down without you, baby.”

“Yeah, you need some time off anyway,” Arya added. “We’ll visit you sometimes, so you won’t be lonely. And drop off some blood.”

Simon watched them, his shoulders low. It wasn’t the first time someone assumed he was stressed out. He wondered why everyone thought that. Was it something he transmitted via bond? Was it something in the way he behaved?

On another note, they were right. He was worried his mom wouldn’t be able to see him gone at the moment, stressing over his whereabouts until they had gotten used to these new circumstances. It was weird, considering that all he had wanted to do at the beginning was to go home. Now home wasn’t his family house anymore. Home was where the clan was and Bernice telling him to stay away felt like a rejection.

Which was just stupid.

He knew they cared about him, not only felt but saw it in every gesture and action. In all honesty, Simon was simply behaving like a baby. And Raphael had told him to take all the time he needed.

Sighing, then putting his best smile on, he agreed.

They said their goodbyes and left through the window, gone in a flash again.

Simon took a few seconds to collect his courage, then headed down to join his family.

After that, he had to make a few phone calls and explain what had happened to his other friends. They deserved at least that much.

His mother was hot and cold on him. Sometimes worrying, constantly hovering close, touching him like she was afraid he was going to vanish; then angry, keeping her distance, staring at him like she was searching for something, snapping at him when he talked to her.

They had a huge fight when she returned home one day, smelling of alcohol. That was the day his family learned about a vampire’s heightened senses. His mother got even angrier after that, and they didn’t talk for the next day, but at least she didn’t try to kill him again.

It took some time, but she came around in the end.

After a week and a half, she settled down, accepted the whole vampire business, fussing over him when he was walking too close to the blinds, asking questions about his new life and listening attentively, researching dishes with a lot of blood content. Not even Simon had known how much blood was actually consumed by humans. He used to be a vegetarian and blood really had never been his thing, but there he was, listening to his mother talking about Blodplättar and blood pudding and whatever she came up with in her research. It was giving her some semblance of normality, he knew, so he let her, but making sure she knew that she really didn’t have to cook any of those dishes for him.

Were vampires even able to eat that?

He would have to ask. Vampires had been around for almost 400 years. Someone must have tried that already and found out it wasn’t helping or they would serve it at Taki’s Dinner.

Rebecca was his pillar of support during that time, willing to bend the truth for their mother so they could drop the details on her in small increments. Simon told his sister everything honestly, left out Clary’s involvement because he hadn’t talked to Clary in a while and wasn’t sure how much of her own business she would like them to know. She didn’t even know that Simon was back home as she was still off for her special Shadowhunter training.

Apart from that, he was honest. Talked about werewolves – not mentioning Luke – warlocks, fairies and whatever creature he could remember from the top of his head. When he tried to explain the social setting of Shadowhunters, Downworlders and Mundanes he sort of used the American police system. She didn’t look quite impressed with the analogy, but she sure as hell caught on pretty quickly, so he chalked it off as a win.

Once or twice Simon had hoped Raphael would show up, but he didn’t. They talked over the phone though, Raphael asking where he could find certain documents, specific stationary, reference material and contracts. Simon had been confused at the questions at first, until he realized that Raphael didn’t know because Simon had taken that part over completely by now and got whatever Raphael needed before he had a chance to ask. Somewhere along the line, they had slipped into their own routine and Simon had become more a secretary than an adviser, developing his own system to organize everything.

When Raphael called to ask for the password on the notebook, Simon had a feeling he was actually really pissed even if his voice had been calm. Honest to God, Simon had already forgotten that the notebook didn’t used to have a password until after its appropriation by him. Wasn’t like Raphael had actually used it much and by now, Simon was the one handling his e-mail traffic anyway.

Simon really hadn’t realized what an amazing secretary he had become.

His friends took turns visiting him, refilling his blood supply and chatting about what was going on at the Hotel Dumort. Simon felt like he was missing out, got frustrated when something bad had happened and he hadn’t been there to help.

With shocking clarity, Simon realized that he was becoming like Raphael.

He had always been joking about the Latino sticking around all the time, constantly being on edge when he wasn’t at the hotel, checking his phones for any messages from Lily or someone else. Not because he wasn’t trusting them to handle the situation but because he had a need to be the one to take care of it.

Simon was getting just as bad.

He laughed at that realization. It hadn’t even been a year and he was becoming a freaking mother hen.

Yet, he was honestly glad for the opportunity of staying with his sister and mom. He had forever. They did not.

By week two, Simon was bored out of his mind.

Which led to frequent calls to Raphael, asking if he had anything to do for him that he could do from home. After the tenth or eleventh time, Raphael threatened to block his number if he called for work again. Which Simon basically interpreted as being allowed to call for everything _but_ work, so he did. While Raphael was mostly replying in monosyllables as Simon continued to chat about his day he didn’t hang up, so Simon called it a win.

To spend as much time with his family, he had aligned his sleeping habits to theirs even if it was only to to join them for breakfast sometimes, although he never ate. This was apparently also what bothered his mother the most. Of _all the things_. Not _what_ he ate, but how _little_ of it. They had dropped the ‘blood-drinking bomb’ on her a few days ago and she hadn’t even batted an eyelash at that and instead launched into a discourse on how to acquire Eco-friendly, locally sourced blood for him to feed on.

His mother had always been good for a surprise.

Anyway, the fact that he got up with his family mostly meant he slept during the night when he could leave the house and was awake when he was imprisoned to it. A year ago Simon had spent a lot of time in his room, could go on for days without even leaving but right now he wondered how the hell old Simon had managed to do that.

Glancing around the room, he picked up his bass and played around a little, before he put it away again, sat down at his computer, opened a few of his favorite games and closed them ten minutes in. He thumbed through his comic books before rolling on his side and deciding to go to sleep. Sleep was a bitch though, so instead he stared at his cupboard filled with books.

When he spotted his seventh grade Spanish book, Simon sat up abruptly.

An hour later he found himself with a Spanish audio course, his old Spanish school books and all 185 episodes of María la del Barrio on his bed, telling himself that he was just freshening up on his Spanish because he didn’t have anything else to do right now anyway and it was a very important language. After all, according to a certain informative website there were more than 570 million Spanish native speakers. That one of them was currently residing in the Hotel Dumort was completely beside the point.

English in comparison only had 370 million native speakers. Which was a fact that Simon had not known. The majority of English speakers was made up of second language speaker.

So Spanish.

_Very Important Language._

It had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to understand what Raphael muttered under his breath. For a fact, Raphael barely spoke Spanish. When Simon had asked why, he had told him that it was the same reason Lily spoke as little Chinese or Japanese as possible or Julliard forwent French; it was a matter of avoiding exclusion or building barriers.

Of course all vampiers had their past and backgrounds, but what connected them overall was their ability to communicate. And being vampires, of course. If anyone used their mother language it was in surprise or excitement. The few phrases Raphael did throw around didn’t take a genius or a language course to understand. ‘¿Cómo estás?’ and ‘Amigo’ were common enough to understand. Same as Julliards ‘Ça va?’ and ‘Bonjour.’

Lily used Japanese for swearing and never spoke Chinese unless absolutely necessary. Simon had never heard the details about her background but from what he’d gathered, it wasn’t pretty. Arya loved singing Indian songs and had forced him to watch every Bollywood movie with Rajendra Kumar in subtitles. And after that every movie with Shah Rukh Khan. However she only spoke the language when she was drunk.

Raphael’s Spanish was reserved for when he was really angry, like he was free to express everything he normally wouldn’t dare in English. Simon suspected the filthiest insults anyone could come up with. Sometimes Raphael fell into Spanish right after waking up from a nightmare. Simon didn’t understand much but enough to know that Raphael was apologizing over and over again.

Simon turned the book in his hand and read the title.

He wondered what Raphael would think, catching him learning his mother language. Considering how paranoid the guy was, it would probably upset him, he’d assum impure intentions like Simon trying to get blackmail material from him or something.

He should probably hide this from him.

Or maybe that made it worse?

Honestly, though, he just thought it was sad how the multi-lingual vampires let go of something that reminded them of home, something that was still an important part of them. Sighing to himself, he put his earplugs in and vowed to deal with problems as they arose, because that had really done him well in the past. Not.

Day three into learning Spanish his sister found him busy repeating vocabulary to his online course, smirking in a way that made him squirm uncomfortably, awaking flashbacks to long hours of doing homework with her. It was the look she always had when she knew something he didn’t and wasn’t going to tell, because if he didn’t figure things out for himself sometimes, it wouldn’t stick. That’s at least what she used to say, when he begged her to finish his homework so they could play.

Considering that she had taken Spanish lessons for the better part of her school life and used to date an exchange student from Spain whom she still was in contact with, she probably had a valid reason to look at him like that.

Simon hated her a little.

After a week it was easier for him to pick vocabulary out when watching the ridiculous show that was María la del Barrio. He only watched it on his phone. With earplugs. And would never ever tell a soul that he actually started to get into the mess that was the TV show. Never.

It was becoming easier to tell words apart, too, and parse sentences for grammar. Compared to English it wasn’t a gender neutral language, which had always been one of the things he had disliked as it made _everything_ unnecessary difficult. A chair was a chair, same as shoe was a shoe. He didn’t understand the appeal to turn it into she chair and he shoe. They were _things_. Vocabulary was easy enough, though. Grammar was a nightmare. He would just stick to the former for a while.

Saturday of week three marked the beginning of Hanukkah.

Their family wasn’t really all that religious, though Simon had found himself turning to God a little more. Ironic, considering how he was being treated for being murdered. He should spit and curse on the names, instead he just felt sad that touching the Star of David caused him to shriek away in pain.

Simon used to celebrate Hanukkah with his family and Christmas with the Fairchild’s.

Holidays were a family affair and frankly, it was a surprise his mother had lasted this long without demanding his presence for the other more important holidays. For Rosh Hashana Simon had quickly dropped by to wish his mother ‘shanah tovah’ and left before she could ask him to sit down and eat. Instead he left with boxes of food he had distributed between Clary and the other Shadowhunters, who had stared at him curiously but accepted the food wordlessly. He had even visited Luke, the werewolf smirking knowingly before enjoying the honey cake and Shabbath chicken.

Simon had never been this jealous of someone in his whole life.

Everything involving fastening like Yom Kippur was easier to handle.

Hanukkah in the Lewis household usually meant lightening the Menorah, eating a lot, singing, and presents. His eating habits presented a real challenge for his mother, torn between letting it go that he couldn’t eat human food without puking it all out again and wanting to put some weight on him with latkes, potato pancakes and other deep-fried specialties, that Simon would have died for tasting again.

Simon asked if it was alright to invite Luke. Even though he wasn’t Jewish, he was probably going to be alone on Christmas with Clary gone to Idris, so he might as well celebrate Hanukkah with the Lewis. While having Luke there was great, because there was one more mouth to devour the feast his mother had prepared, there was a long awkward pause when Simon was unable to say the blessings during the lightening of the first candle. He was forced to make a snap decision of letting them know that Luke knew he was a vampire so he could continue to explain why he couldn’t get a word out to anything related to the miracle. Simon should have spent his days leading up to the holiday trying to speak the blessings instead of Spanish.

Rebecca wasn’t pleased to find out that Luke had known before them, but forgot all about it when the alarm for the oven went of and hurried to the kitchen.

When Derek showed up for Simon’s daily blood delivery, his mother quickly offered him to stay. Derek, about to decline, spotted Rebecca, wiggled eyebrows seductively at her and politely thanked Simon’s mother for the invitation before pushing a bag in Simon’s hands and strolling over. Rebecca returned Derek’s flirty gesture with a charming smile that made Simon cringe.

His mother and sister were surprised to find out that Derek and Luke knew each other, which was something that Simon had not considered beforehand. Derek made up a lie on the spot of running into them purely by chance. Simon wondered if Luke was ever going to tell them that he was a werewolf, but doubted it. It was a secret he likely would only reveal if necessary. He didn’t mind exactly, it wasn’t as if it would change anything.

The following days of the holiday went by in a similar fashion, daily guests switching between Arya, Bernice, Derek and Daniel, sometimes Tamara in tow.

Last day of Hanukkah had all of them playing the weirdest game of dreidel Simon had ever witnessed, with the other vampires constantly forgetting what the symbols meant and Arya, in her usual ambitious gaming fashion getting weirdly protective over her tokens and Bernice inconspicuously moving her own tokens to Arya. Luke and Derek barely paid any attention to the game itself and Daniel and Tamara stayed adorably confused throughout the whole chaos around them. When his mother stumbled over all of them sitting on the floor in the living room, cursing at each other, she instantly burst out laughing. It was a sound that Simon hadn’t heard in a long time and he caught himself staring at her, quickly turning away when she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why hasn't Raphael been over once?” she suddenly asked, frowning at the group of vampires like she just noticed that something was amiss.

“I asked him day before yesterday. Something exploded in the background and he said no,” Simon explained with a shrug. “Something about Elliott being a dick?”

“Oh yeah, Elliott's trying to get his ladies to accept a fourth person into their relationship. They weren't very happy about that,” Derek explained.

“Is that fourth person supposed to be Raphael? Because Elliott has been dropping some really weird hints on me for the past month now,” Simon asked, receiving funny looks from the other vampires. “Yeah like, he keeps telling me how he totally wants to tap that ass. Like really insistently. Every time he sees me. Does he want me to back him up or something? It really freaks me out.”

Bernice barked out a laugh, then tried to suppress her laughter by pressing a hand over her mouth before she gave up and burst into a minute long laughing fit. Arya rubbed a hand over her back, all the while shaking her head in what seemed like pity. “Definitely not Raphael. Some guy named Curtis.”

“That Elliott guy sounds like someone who doesn't know when to stop,” Rebecca commented, eyeing Simon strangely.

“Raphael's just a pretty busy guy in general, Ms. Lewis,” Daniel, ever the diplomat, offered. “Especially now that Simon isn't around.”

And that thankfully shifted the conversation to a new topic, namely Simon’s job. That he had one, for a fact. Simon never really called it that, said he had responsibilities which probably always sounded like a way out. His mother regarded him with something akin to wonder while his friends continued to list what he was doing for the clan. Stuff Simon himself hadn’t been actively aware of, really.

He hadn’t realized he had become a person to rely on even for problems not related to clan business, the first person people ran to when they were in trouble or had made a mistake and needed help fixing it before anyone had a chance to notice. Thinking back, it had probably to do with the fact that Simon took everything upon himself that he deemed too minor for Raphael or Lily to handle, busy as they were with everything else.

Hearing his friends talk about him like he was some sort of knight in shining amour was not something he was used to. Neither were his mother and sister and it showed in their sceptical expressions. Simon, trying to hide his embarrassment just waved their praise off, telling them the vampires were exaggerating, because Simon honestly wasn’t all that much, really.

Luckily, everyone left it at that and Rebecca sneakily switched the topic by asking about Raphael’s love life _again_. Luckily, none of the vampires were interested in touching that topic at all, giving some vague answers that only confused Rebecca until she gave up again. For a second, Simon wondered if she might be genuinely interested in Raphael, considering how interested she appeared to be, before he pushed that thought and the persistent sense of irritation coming with it away.

Into the fourth week, Simon was itching to get back. There were things to do and he _knew_ Raphael was the one taking care of everything that should have been Simon’s responsibility. Simon thought it was alright to return. Rebecca was going to stay until after New Years and his mother was fine. In fact, his mother was doing so good, that he feared her marching against the Clave after he had told her a little too much about the politics in the Shadow World.

Simon might have overdone it a little with the police brutality comparison.

Well, actually, Simon had really _downplayed_ that part.

Another reason was his mother’s growing nagging. She had the incredible ability to reduce him to a teenager again, going on and on about cleaning his room, helping out around the house, doing the laundry or repair their garden shed as soon as it was dark.

“Just because you’re a vampire doesn’t mean you have to sleep the whole day,” she accused, standing in his room, arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

“Yes mom, it does,” Simon mumbled, hiding his head underneath the pillow after he caught the time. It was barely noon. “It’s literally what being a vampire is about. _Nocturnal_.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, pulling the blanket from his bed.

Simon let out an annoyed groan, pushing the pillow to the side as he sat up to glare at her. “Moooom,” he almost wailed and yes, this was what he been reduced to not even a month back at home. All the confidence and independence he had develop over the months with the clan, by taking on chores and task and trying to find a place to fit, crumbled to dust like a vampire in the sun. “I need my sleep.”

His mother huffed. There was a laugh from Rebecca’s room, probably listening to the conversation. It was all so ordinary, that Simon couldn’t help but grin as well. Throwing a look around his room he realized that it really was a mess. Clothes thrown around haphazardly, books on musical theory, comics, papers with Spanish vocabulary and tap sheets littering the floor, the old strings of his bass in one corner after he had replaced them with new ones.

“Fine. It’s sort of messy.”

“And think about what you want to take back to your room at the hotel of yours.”

Simon’s head snapped up at those words. His mother smiled warmly at him, taking a few steps closer. “Monkey, you have work to do,” she said, one hand to his face, thumb running over his cheekbone in a gentle touch. “You’ve been with me for a month. But from what I’m being told, there are people who rely on you. I can’t keep you away from that.”

“Well I don’t know, they seem to do just fine,” he replied with a shrug. “Apart from Raphael of course. He’s probably dying without me. Sort of. Maybe. A little. Not that he would even tell me if he were. I’m only telling myself that. He can handle himself just fine.”

Rebecca snorted.

“Anyway, our neighbors are already talking about the sheets on our windows. I can’t have that kind of talk in our neighborhood,” his mother continued matter-of-fact. If nothing else, that right there told Simon that his mother had really accepted him being a vampire. She still looked at him with sadness, same as Rebecca sometimes, when they both thought he wouldn’t see, but not because of what he was but because of what had happened to make him that way. There was nothing Simon could do to change that.

“Are you throwing me out?” Simon asked with a laugh. His mother glanced at him, waving her hand in a throw away gesture.

“Nonsense,” she said again. “You can stay as long as you want. I do want to look into new blinds, though. These old ones let too much light in. Oh, but Tamara offered to go shopping for new ones, she’ll have some interesting viewpoints. Such a sweet girl, that one.” His mother was already lost in her own world, contemplating colors, patterns, thickness, material and going through measurements in her head, so Simon left her to it, shuffled out of his bed. He had a few hours till sun down, enough time to sort through his belongings and figure out what he wanted to take with him, to throw away and what to keep at his mom’s.

After nightfall, Simon helped taking down the covers of the windows, joking with Rebecca and telling her what their neighbors were saying about them as they of course noticed immediately. They laughed as her mother glared at them, giving Simon a talk about misusing his new abilities.

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should, Simon,” his mother said, hands on her hips as she gave them both a chiding look.

Simon rolled his eyes, while Rebecca nudge her elbow into his side, snickering as she surreptitiously pointed at the house across of theirs where Old Jenkins was staring out of his own window, flickering light of his TV illuminating his silhouette that he probably thought wasn’t visible from the Lewis’ house.

Simon coughed to hide his chuckle and they continued to remove the sheets from the other windows.

Shortly before midnight, Simon hugged his mother and sister goodbye, picked up the duffel bag with what he had decided to bring back to the hotel and left with a wave and promise to be back before New Years.

When he returned to the hotel, he entered it Emperor Kuzco style, throwing the doors wide open and yelling ‘Boom baby.’ He received a few disinterested looks, some awkward coughing and was generally ignored. Yet the feeling in his gut, that had returned to its usual state a few miles before reaching the hotel, brightened instantly. Simon laughed. “You can act all you want, but I _feel_ your love!”

“Can you feel how much work is waiting for you, too?” Raphael asked from behind him, scaring Simon into jumping almost through the whole entrance hall.

“Raphael, will you _ever_ stop doing that?”

“Probably not.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the grin.

“Which arm was it?”

At first Simon was confused with the question, before he scoffed, waving dismissively, rolling the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow. “Nothing to see, it’s all gone,” he said, showing the unmarred skin. “Thanks again for the first aid.”

Raphael glanced at him, then reached out, fingers closing around Simon’s wrist and pulling him close. His eyes traveled over the length of the forearm but whatever he was looking for, some lingering scars or burned patches, there was no sign that the skin had been burned to black before. “Don’t lie next time,” he said as his fingers tentatively moved lower, over the back of his hand until their fingertips touched, lingering for a brief moment.

Simon nodded in reply, ashamed that he had even thought he could get away with it in the first place.

With a frown, Raphael took a step back, pushed his hands into his pockets, before he spoke up again. This time with a slight smile. “Welcome home, baby.”

“Yeah,” Simon replied with a grin of his own. “Good to be back.”


	13. Drops Of Water From a Fountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is a dork. Raphael is a saint. Christmas parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who commented the last chapter. I'm really happy for your support, even if Simon is bending patience to a dangerous degree. He's getting there, no worries.

The weeks leading up to Christmas were pure horror.

One of Simon’s more annoying tasks after becoming first advisor was attending official events as Raphael’s +1. Invitations to Christmas celebration had arrived in abundance and even though Raphael had narrowed them down to the four most important ones – and Simon had the pleasure to decline all the thirty odd something else – they were still slowly sucking the life out of Simon’s anxiety ridden low-key antisocial soul.

And they still had the post-Christmas/pre-New Year celebrations to go.

Simon sincerely wanted to curl up in the fetus position under his blanket and hide from the world. Fortunately, Raphael seemed to be just as socially challenged, with his string of patience wearing dangerously thin. While the clan leader was definitely more apt at navigating these sort of events, his bar didn’t appear to be much higher than Simon’s when it came to how much he wanted to deal with all that fake bullshit.

In the past, Jacob had shown up as clan representative, Elliott once, but while the latter had proved to be a walking sexual harassment suit waiting to happen the former had held a speech like the lawyer he wasn’t explaining why he was the most unsuitable person for this job. Read: he really, really didn’t want to anymore. Lily apparently wasn’t even an option anymore after she had to attend one too many and threatened to castrate the next guy or disembowel the next woman pinching her ass. So a few weeks back, Raphael had started to drag Simon to the parties.

Surprisingly, Simon and Raphael worked well together.

Raphael introduced Simon as his First Advisor and Simon fumbled for words and ruined any semblance of dignity at first impressions.

It was great.

Simon hated social events. Especially when it came to Shadow World High Society. His social anxiety wasn’t helping much as well, and while he didn’t trip and fell as often as he had feared, mostly because Raphael was just somehow _right there_ to keep him from falling, he knew how other people saw him. Which honestly wasn’t very good for his self–esteem.

Sometimes he wondered if Raphael was aware of what the other Downworlders said about Simon. What they said about _Raphael_ for bringing that lanky ball of nerves along, like he was a kept pet or a charity case.

However, Simon was thankfully a rather bright crayon under all that clumsy mess. He knew, that most Downworlders thought he was simple-minded, that they could use him for their games, garner favors or coax information out of him. So Simon sort of played along.

Being his dorky self served him rather well in this environment of calculating snakes and liars. Raphael had his stone mask, his charming smile or quick sarcastic humor as a poker face. Simon had his flailing and stuttering and floundering and goofy smile.

It helped immensely that he was a vampire. No racing heartbeat, blushing or profuse sweating giving him away. All he had to do was stammer with wide eyes, act intimidated or shy. It would be funny how easy it was, if it weren’t so insulting at the same time.

The first time he attended a party as Raphael’s advisor, he had been warned that they were entering a playground of cunning deceit. Simon hadn’t believed it, waving the warning off as Raphael being the overbearing mother hen that he tended to be. Ten minutes into the party he had regretted his haughty attitude, and Raphael, noticing his distress, had just walked away and let him suffer. He had always been a firm believer of ‘learn the hard way if you don’t want to listen’.

If Clary hadn’t suddenly shown up and swept him out of the circle of Seelies trying to coerce him with pretty words, he would have latched himself onto Raphael’s arm, begging him to never leave him alone again.

By now, Simon had gotten used to the frightening nature that was court politics and loopholes and lying without lying. He had done his homework on vampire clans, werewolf packs, fairies and warlocks. He had made it his mission to know who was who, who and what they represented and what their angle was.

He still wasn’t good at talking to them, he never was going to be good at that part, but that didn’t matter, because that was Raphael’s job anyway. Confidently maneuvering formalities and discussions, utterly destroying whoever dared to question his abilities based on his young appearance with cutting remarks.

Simon was fine being the gawky, stupid side kick. Because that meant people talked to him barely watching their words, like he was unable to understand the _language_. It also made it easy to weave in some fabricated stories here and there, delivering them in a ‘my tongue slipped please don’t tell _anyone_ ’ style, while anxiously letting his eyes dart around. He was mostly just testing the route of information with that, where it caused a stir or details clashed. He figured it wasn’t a disadvantage to know who talked to whom about what.

He wondered how many of these parties it would take until the Downworlders realized he wasn’t really _that_ stupid, even if he was lacking common courtesy, etiquette and grace. He also wondered when Raphael was going to yell at him for having such a shameful reputation and acting like a disgrace. This had yet to happen, even after Simon had been tripped into a pond leaving him to walk around completely drenched. Or that absolutely not hilarious but admittedly kind of adorable time, when two werewolf puppies broke out of the children’s room and decided to use him as a chewing toy. Simon had been stuck between cooing at the cuteness and hissing at the pain until yet again Raphael saved him from the embarrassment, looking annoyed but that was honestly a default expression.

Knowing who was who and who talked to who at least helped in getting Raphael some of the things he wanted for the clan, and Simon was all about giving Raphael what he wanted. A useless quirk he had discovered about himself about seven months into clan life. Raphael never asked for much, so Simon was willing to give him whatever was in his powers. Considering that Raphael never said a lot about wants, he was more or less left to figure shit out for himself, but that was fine. He was basically a stalker by now anyway.

Which was also the reason why he got curious when he noticed Raphael talking charmingly to a vampire called Lazar Markov. Now Simon didn’t know much about that Lazar dude because he and his clan lived secluded in a forest surrounded by miles of trees and deer and nothing else. However he knew Raphael, and Raphael was doing that thing with his finger, a sort of tapping, a nervous tick, that told him that whatever they were talking about, wasn’t going the way he wanted. So Simon listened in, making out Raphael’s voice only, because that had always been easy for him even with wards trying to prevent it.

It didn’t look like Lazar was particularly against Raphael’s proposal but more against _Raphael_. Usually Raphael’s reputation was working in their favor. He commanded some respect, had made a name for himself even in Camille’s shadow. It was an open secret that he was the one who covered up her mistakes and transgressions, keeping her safely out of Shadow Hunter hands. It made him a safer bet for a lot of people.

Yet, Simon learned quickly from all those chatty guests around him, that many Downworlders, while open to the prospect of working together with the New York vampire clan, were very careful around Raphael. There were whispers through the grapevine that he had dethroned Camille in his ambition for power, that he was just as shrewd and deceitful as her, constantly scheming to keep the upper hand.

It was probably this part, that Lazar wasn’t happy with.

Simon wondered if there was something he could do about that. He probably had to keep his ears and eyes open, which wasn’t all that easy considering the circumstances. Bad thing about those parties: the warding, especially against eavesdroppers, that every Downworlder more or less was. Still, it looked like Lazar just needed a little push, a little incentive, something to tip the discussion in Raphael’s favor.

Nipping at his glass, Simon let his eyes roam the glamorous room, before he finally found who he was looking for. There wasn’t much to know about Lazar, boring guy that he was, but for one tiny bit of information Simon might be able to work with: his long standing feud with Feodora Natali Melnik. Vampires loved to gossip, even more when the gossip circled around betrayal and broken hearts, going even more in detail when they thought the partner they were talking to had a brain the size of a pea. One of these days Simon was going to get offended, but right now he couldn’t deny that it was useful to get information.

Drink in hand, he made his way over to Feodora, who was surrounded by her usual entourage and a few other guests, laughing loudly and bathing in the spot light as she bragged about her dress. The plan was basically to get her attention first, maybe humor her a little to feel her out. What he didn’t plan on was his body’s inability to walk a straight line, or more like, having to avoid a tipsy woman bumping into him, propelling him forward and right into Feodora’s direction, tipping his blood filled wine glass directly onto her brilliant white dress.

Well shit.

Never in his life had Simon ever had someone outright _scream_ at him. Eyes wide open, he stared at her in silent terror as she shouted every single word, not only insulting his intelligence, appearance, sire, upbringing but also his apparent lack of everything basic a proud vampire should possess.

Feodora was scary as fuck, was what Simon learned in that moment. She was leading one of the most powerful vampire clans of the east coast. Her word was almost law and she possessed the temper and cunning to rule and use to her advantage. Compared to her, the Dumort looked like a support group haphazardly thrown together barely scraping by. Compared to her, Raphael’s power was child’s play. And Simon had just dropped blood on the designer dress that she had been showing off _the whole evening_ and was worth more than all of Camille’s gold reserves combined.

Probably.

In short, he was fucked.

That thought was quickly pushed to the back of his mind when she started to insult Raphael. His spine straightened instantly and he answered her piercing stare with a challenging one as she opened her mouth wide in a show of threat, fangs bared with every word she spit in his face. His lips curled in disgust. As he was about to retort with something that was definitely going to fuel her anger even more, there was a familiar presence at his side, a hand placed softly at his back and another pushing strong against Feodora’s shoulder, forcing her to keep distance instead of snarling barely a few inches away from Simon’s throat.

“He apologized,” Raphael told her calmly, but the edge to his voice betrayed his anger. He lowered his hand as she took a step back in outrage at the audacity of the gesture.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she spit, though with less venom. “Your _pet_ needs a leash, Santiago. You can’t let it run around unsupervised.”

Raphael lifted both eyebrows at those words. Simon felt the tense muscles of Raphael’s body, the slight curl of his fingers in his back before they relaxed again.

“Now, Feodora, I think you should thank him. He did you quite a favor.”

Oh for the love of—Simon knew that voice. This was the same voice Raphael used, when he was talking smack about Simon’s _fashion sense_. He was going to attack exactly where he knew it would hit her the hardest. Simon already saw the plot unfold before his inner eyes in a cheap imitation of a Mean Girls episode.

“Excuse me?” she growled.

“I’m really, really, really, very, very sorry,” Simon threw in, his hand gripping for Raphael’s jacket behind his back and furiously tugging at it for attention, hopefully conveying something along the lines of ‘Stop it, what the hell are you doing? Do you want to get us into _more_ trouble?’. Considering that Raphael was well versed in maneuvering these kinds of situations and usually tried to maintain at least a neutral standing, he sure didn’t shy away from making enemies. “Please accept my humble apology. If there’s anything I can do to make you forgive me, please don’t hesitate to tell me.”

Feodora snarled, pulling her upper lip back. “You can burn in the damn sun for me, _pet_.”

“Like Malory Hickory?”

The people around them fell into utter silence at those words.

Well, this had been a nice life, Simon thought. Lot of good, some bad. Raphael was unshakable when he was using _that_ tone; cold, calculating and a tiny bit insane. There was nothing Simon could do. Fuck it, he should have let Raphael belittle her dress and they might have gotten off lightly. This was turning into a disaster.

“What did you say?” Feodora hissed.

Raphael lifted his chin, not backing down from her intimidating stance and clearly murderous aura. “That wasn’t a secret, was it? Such a dastardly thing. By exposure even.”

Feodora reclined, her shoulders pulling back as she straightened her stance and inclined her head in question, murderous expression morphing into a challenging frown. “My dear Raphael Santiago, whatever _are_ you talking about?”

Raphael hummed lowly, letting his eyes travel absentmindedly through the room as if he was already bored with the conversation and searching for something more interesting. “Quite a dedicated lover she was, I heard.” With a smirk, Raphael quirked his eyebrows back at her.

Simon wanted to die.

Simon also didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

Whatever Raphael had insinuated must have hit, though, because Feodora’s expression hardened and the intense hatred behind her eyes spoke volumes. However, she turned her attention back to Simon. “You don’t belong here. This is not a playground for mere fledglings. You bring shame to this place. And you let him.” Her last words were directed at Raphael, who barely bat an eyelash at the accusation.

“Oh please,” Raphael huffed, hand waving at Feodora. “The only shame is you wearing this dress. That forced innocence notwithstanding, the white blends horribly with your pale skin. So thank my _advisor_ that he took time to add some color to this bad imitation of a virginal bride left at the altar.”

Simon gaped at Raphael. Where the hell did that come from?

Raphael didn’t even give Feodora the time to work through the shock of being talked to in that manner before he led Simon away from the verbal murder scene and back to where he had been talking to Lazar. The other man was nowhere to be seen though and Simon heard Raphael hiss something under his breath, then let out one of his very, very rare deep sighs. “Don’t leave my side for the rest of the evening,” he finally said.

Simon nodded, trying to keep his head down.

He felt like a failure.

Playing politics was really something he should let Raphael handle. Gathering information, that was probably more up his alley.

They were silent as they made their way back through the muddy streets of Manhattan. At least Raphael had the patience to chew him out after they arrived at the Dumort, dragging Simon into his chambers without even stopping by Lily’s room for the usual update. Simon ignored everyone staring at them in curiosity as they passed the entrance hall and common room.

“What were you thinking?” Raphael asked, angrier than Simon had ever heard him before, and with their shared history, that was saying a lot. So Simon didn’t even try to pretend like he didn’t know what Raphael was talking about as he opened with that question, door barely shut behind them. He just plopped down on the couch burying his face behind his hands. “I was trying to help you. With Lazar.”

“By spilling _blood_ over _Feodora’s_ dress?”

“Of course not!” Simon exclaimed, offended. “This was as far from my plan as possible.”

“Why were you even talking to her?”

“I was trying to get a feeling on her.”

“What does that have to do with Lazar?”

Simon sighed heavily, pulled his legs up on the couch and folded his hands in his lap. “You know they used to be married? Like 200 years ago, when they were humans?” Raphael nodded. “And that she killed their daughter?” At that, Raphael paused, quirking his eyebrows at him in a questioning frown. Simon wasn’t really surprised. Raphael was more likely to rely on _sources_ instead of gossip. Proper sources that came up with blackmail material useful to get out of tricky situations, like the one they had been in with Feodora. Not questionable information that might have aged badly.

“Well, I heard that after Feodora was turned, she decided to turn her whole family herself. Meaning Lazar and their daughter. But the daughter didn’t take to it, never woke up in her grave. Lazar mourned her death and managed to forgive Feodora. Until he found out that Feodora didn’t feed their daughter vampire blood before killing her.”

Raphael leaned back, half sitting on his high foot board of the bed, glaring intently at Simon. “Is this going somewhere?”

“More or less? Rumor kind of has it, that Lazar was heart broken, but Feodora just laughed in his face about how she hadn’t _his_ daughter anyway. That she kinda had been cheating on him like forever. Then walks out of his life. So, you know, he _really_ hates her.”

“So you decided to do what exactly?”

“I just wanted to get more from herself first, thought I might come up with something after talking to her. But then someone bumped into me and everything went down after that.”

Raphael stared at him for a moment, before his whole body relaxed from the tense posture he had kept up in his initial anger. “Doesn’t matter. Lazar is a hard nut to crack. I’ve been working him for years, but he hated Camille with a passion, so I stepped back. I had hoped we could finally reach an agreement now that she’s out of the picture.”

Simon nodded, before pulling a letter out of the inner pocket of his jacket. “Lazar approached me. Told me to give this to you as soon as we’re home.”

“He did?” Raphael asked in open surprise. “When?”

“Right before we left. You were busy with that old VIP Seelie, that kept hitting on you.”

Raphael wrinkled his nose in disgust. Simon bit back a laugh, remembering how the other had tried to politely but sternly and consistently keep her grabby hands away, until he finally excused himself, mask dropping, irritated disdain written all over his face the second he had his back to her.

“Have you read it?”

Simon shook his head no, reaching out to hand the letter over. Raphael pursed his lips before he took it with some reluctance. “He’s boring, but a good guy, you know?” Simon said. “I think someone who doesn’t like to play these insane games would be good for you and the clan. He also didn’t treat me like an idiot when we talked.”

“You made one mistake. Doesn’t warrant anyone treating you like an idiot,” Raphael said, turning the letter between his fingers several times with a frown.

Simon choked out a laugh. “ _One mistake?_ Are you kidding me? All I do is mess up.”

“That time I took Elliot with me he harassed every single warlock in the room, got drunk on Seelie blood and puked over the leader of one of the largest werewolf packs in New York. Simon, trust me, tripping over your feet a few times doesn’t mean you messed up.”

Simon gaped at him, then laughed again. “Oh! You don’t _know_!”

“Know what?”

“Everyone thinks I’m stupid. That I’m easy to manipulate and play with.”

“What?” Raphael said, frowning. “Simon, I can’t have people think my advisor is stupid.”

Simon was still laughing, shaking his head a little. “Of course. They wouldn’t tell it to your face. Course not.” He stifled his laughter, catching the other’s eyes to make sure he understood how serious he was. “Raphael, _no one_ thinks I’m your advisor. They think you’re joking when you introduce me as such. Best case, they think I’m your dorky assistant. Worst case, your pet. Someone you bring along for sympathy points or something.”

At that Raphael actually started to look angry again. “How did that happen?”

Simon gestured with both hands to himself, not even in a self-depreciating manner, simply pointing it out. Even Raphael’s expensive suits, while definitely making him look more grown up and presentable, couldn’t hide his ridiculous personality in the end.

Raphael growled, placing the letter on the bed without a second glance, before he stepped up to Simon. “You have a tendency to get lost in random details and you lack common sense, but you’re _not_ stupid. No one has the right to say that about you.”

Simon was smiling at Raphael with a stupidly huge grin. “I don’t care what _they_ think,” he said. “I care what _you_ think. And while I appreciate your blatant disregard to my obvious inability to master social settings, I think you should stop bringing me along after… wow, after today especially. I mean, I’m not even going to pretend I know what was going on between Feodora and you. That tidbit of information was probably something you’d rather have kept for something else.”

“Hardly,” Raphael scoffed. “It’s not a secret. Just something polite vampire society decided to never mention.” A smirk followed his words. “Good thing I’m not known for being polite.”

“I thought I might be able to help you,” Simon sighed. “Instead I made things worse.”

“Nonsense.” Raphael’s voice was firm as he looked him directly in the eyes. “Your lack of self-awareness is honestly stunning.” Without further ado, Raphael sat down next to him, one leg up so he could face Simon properly. “Do you even realize, that you can give me the name to every face I don’t recognize with a brief summary?”

Simon shrugged vaguely, because well, of course he could. That’s what he had been studying the whole freaking telephone book of the upper society for. Metaphorically speaking. There was no telephone book, just Camille’s neatly kept journals and dossiers, Magnus’ gracious help at pointing out names and Clary’s willingness to copy the Clave’s database as much as she could with her clearance to every person he had questions about. The last one actually sounded illegal, now that he thought about it. It was probably fine.

“These parties are tedious and I only bother to remember people that might be a threat or an ally, but you know _everyone_.” Raphael continued to look at Simon’s still hunched figure, eyes tracing his face with blunt sincerity. “You have an ability to find people worth knowing and investing in. Without you, I’d never have met Eira Storstrand. What came out of that?”

Swaying from left to right with a faked contemplative hum, he twisted his lips back into a smile. “Weeeell,” Simon started, an ounce of pride swelling in his chest. “You got us a pretty neat, exclusive blood delivery deal bypassing Clave intervention.”

“ _You_ got us that deal,” Raphael corrected firmly. “You found her. You told me what she needed so I knew exactly what to offer in exchange.”

“Just a fluke.”

“Once is a fluke, Simon. Something like that has happened four times already.”

“It’s easy to spot the good guys when most people treat me with contempt.” Simon shrugged helplessly, not used to the direct praise and incapable of taking it at face value. “I mean, I didn’t do it on purpose, acting dumb I mean. It was just my anxiety. You know, makes it difficult to talk. Or stop talking. People didn’t take me seriously, but they let their walls down, so took my wins where I could get them. But Eira was nice. Just honestly nice.”

“She was singing you praises.” Simon’s eyes widened at that in disbelief, but Raphael just continued. “When we were working on formulating the contract. She said you had a good head and a lot of heart. I think she used the phrase ‘stupidly sincere’.” Apt description, probably. “If I had someone like you vouching for me, I can’t be as bad as my reputation makes me out to be.” Raphael frowned at the memory. “I told her I’m worse. She laughed and said ‘Simon was right about you’. Whatever you’ve told her about me pretty much took the edge off, apparently.”

Simon was at a loss for words. Firstly, he had no idea what he had told Eira about Raphael. He can’t even remember much about their first meeting, because someone had spiked his blood and he had gotten slightly drunk and whenever Simon got slightly drunk it meant happy rambling and he might have said something about Raphael’s hair and scowl and fondness for tiny rodents, that he kept feeding with cheese and everyone in the clan pretending they didn’t know that. That had happened on the second party and Simon had learned that, vampire or not, even in the Shadow World you should never leave your drink unattended.

Eira had been a real pal about the whole incident and didn’t mention it to him again the few times they had met after that.

Maybe he should sent her a gift basket.

“We complement each other well, don’t we?” It was less a question, more an admittance that Raphael threw out into the room seemingly catching him off-guard just as much as Simon, if the thoughtful expression was anything to go by. “You get along well with people like Eira.”

“Not with Feodora, though,” Simon said, still annoyed at himself.

“I don’t need you to. People like her have a reputation and their enemies. It’s easy to get dirt on them. The ones in hiding,” Raphael captured his eyes again, “the ones I don’t pay attention to, who prefer to stay in the background, who don’t _want_ me to know about them, those are the ones you have to look out for. They would never talk to me but they talk to you.”

“God knows why.”

“But,” Raphael continued as if he had never spoken, voice more assertive now. “I don’t want anyone treating you like an idiot. I don’t want for you to sell yourself short. And I understand if you don’t want to come along anymore. I won’t force you.”

Simon was almost falling over in his hurry to flap his hands and push away Raphael’s interpretation of his earlier words. “No, no, this is not—I _want_ to accompany you if I’m not a bother. But I’m probably not good for your reputation in the long run.”

“I don’t care about that.” The anger was back in Raphael’s dark eyes. “This is about you. If I’ve cared about embarrassment I would’ve never taken Elliott with me. He’s practically the dictionary definition of disorderly conduct or indecent exposure.”

“You pretty much said that I _do_ embarrass you, you realize that, don’t you?” Raphael rolled his eyes, but a smirk was tugging at his lips. Yep, totally did. “Well, if you don’t mind having to watch out for me, I don’t mind keeping you company.”

“No acting dumb anymore.”

“Still me, prone to accidents,” Simon said, gesturing to himself again with a wiggle of his eyebrows this time. “So I can’t promise that I won’t make a fool out of me again, but yeah, I get what you mean. Unless you can promise me, that you won’t ever diss someone’s dress again. Which, by the way, seriously?”

Raphael turned his eyes heavenward as he replied with something like a pout. “Not my fault, it’s what she cares about. And it was hideous. She had been getting on my nerves all night, flaunting that thing around.”

“Unbelievable,” Simon huffed a laugh, shaking his head, but then nodded his chin in the direction of the bed. “Aren’t you dying to find out what’s in that letter?”

“I have priorities.”

Simon felt the urge to reach out, suddenly in desperate need of contact between them even if it was just their hands like he had become accustomed too. But he held himself back, instead pushed his feet to the floor to stand up. “Then let’s find out.”

The both stared at the letter after Raphael had opened it, golden embellishment adorning the off-white paper at the top, Lazar’s name in wide fancy script at the bottom with extra flourishes bordering on too much. Simon blinked at the words. At first glance he had thought he was just unable to read them because of the overbearing calligraphy font, until he vaguely recognized the characters as Cyrillic script. “Should we get Victoria for that?” he asked, then noticed Raphael’s amused smile. “What’s it say?”

Raphael glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. “It says ‘Wrag majewo wraga moi drug’.”

“You speak Russian?”

“I told you. I’ve been vying for him for a long time. I thought Russian might help, so Victoria taught me.” An eyeroll followed his words. “Don’t ever confuse Polish with Russian by the way, or she’ll have your head.”

There was a story behind those words, that Simon definitely wanted to hear one day, but at the moment he was more interested in the one-line letter. “So? What’s it mean?”

“‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’.”

Apart from the fact that Simon had an inappropriate flashback to one of his video games after hearing this sentence, he took the translation with more composure than he was used to from himself. Like he was slowly getting to a place where nothing managed to surprise him anymore. Simon felt like he was maybe finally growing up. He scoffed, more amused than annoyed. “You think he knew what I was attempting?”

“Likely.”

“That boring guy is a scary old man, isn’t he?”

“He’s sharp, doesn’t trust easily. Considering what you told me, I guess I can relate. This is not a promise, but it’s a starting point,” Raphael explained, taking the potentially peace offering with reservations. “Something I can work with.”

“Maybe he was impressed that you didn’t back down against Feodora?”

Flipping the paper over as if expecting something else written on its back, Raphael snorted a laugh. “He probably just liked that you destroyed her dress.”

“That would mean, I didn’t ruin anything this time.”

“Hey,” Raphael said sharply, head snapping up to glare at him with narrowed eyes. “That doesn’t mean I want a repeat of that.”

“Noted.” Simon actually managed to look somewhat sheepish while still buzzing with happiness, bouncing on his heels. Raphael shook his head, but didn’t even try to hide the exasperated smile as he rolled his eyes, then proceeded to usher him out of the room so both of them could catch some sleep.

Alright, so Simon wanted to do something nice for Raphael as an apology for messing up all the time. Sue him.

It didn’t mean that Derek had to be a dick about it, really. It was a spur of the moment decision anyway. Simon had seen it, thought of Raphael and brought it up to the register without thinking twice. Derek watched him curiously, eyebrows raised in question, because Simon was usually stingy with his money and he just bought a pen for $40. _A pen._

Granted, it was an Aviator Provincial with ink-control, metal threads, amazing weight-distribution, a smooth and elegant design and most of all, particularly reliable for longhand writing, so of course it was expensive. And okay, so it wasn’t as impulsive as he made it seem, because yes, Simon had researched pens.

For Raphael.

Because he didn’t know what else to get him.

By now Simon had learned a few things about the clan leader: that he liked expensive clothes and expensive bikes, none of which Simon could afford, had enough knowledge of nor dared to buy in the first place, because Raphael was somewhat picky and apparently liked his bikes as as he liked his suits: explicitly tailored to his wishes or at least limited editions

In his defense, Raphael liked writing letters. Sometimes long letters. Liked to write them by hand, scrunching his nose in disgust when the pens he used leaked and left stains on his fingers. He glared at ballpoint pens like they were an affront to his very person every time he was forced to use them and Simon had to admit the swirls lacked in grace compared to fountain pens.

So yes, Simon had done some research. Precisely to find out what was offered, what he wanted and where he could buy it. Maybe it had been a very bad idea to let Derek tag along, because he was an _asshole_.

It could have been worse, he tried to console himself. He could have engraved Raphael’s name into the grip as the shop assistant had offered when Simon let her know that he wanted it wrapped as a present.

Derek virtually _squealed_ when Simon hesitated, contemplating the offer.

The worst thing was that Simon didn’t even have a real reason for the gift, even if he meant to give it as some sign of gratitude. It alone was nowhere near enough to convey how much Raphael had helped him deal with and how much time he had spent teaching Simon. Didn’t even matter if it was done out of a sense of responsibility for the new guy, Simon still felt like he was indebted far more than he could ever pay back.

He couldn’t use Christmas as an excuse, because Raphael didn’t celebrate Christmas. Simon had asked about that shortly after Hanukkah and gotten a quick ‘no’ in reply. Nobody knew when Raphael’s birthday was, not even Lily, and Simon might have been invested enough to track every yearbook of every school in the district of Spanish Harlem from the beginning of the 60th down if he hadn’t been 100% sure that _that_ definitely fell under the category of stalking. The idea alone made him question his own creepiness.

Therefore, Simon realized ten minutes after purchasing it, already on his way back to the hotel, that he had to give the pen to Raphael somehow.

Which was when he started to freak out. It had been a bad idea. A very bad idea. Watching him fret, Derek had the time of his life. He even sung the stupid song. It was brutally unfair that the guy wasn’t only a drummer God but apparently also had the singing voice of Luther Vandross.

Simon spent the remaining time to the hotel begging Derek to please, please think about joining the vocals with Arya, in between singing the female part of the song, not even a tiny bit embarrassed about the spectacle they both presented to passing onlookers. Especially not when the confused looks were replaced by cheers and some clapping after Derek managed to catch and lift Simon up in the air in a surprisingly accurate and graceful imitation of the real dance move. The only reason they didn’t go crashing down though was Derek’s strength and balance. Simon found out the hard way that keeping your body tense wasn’t as easy as it looked.

At the hotel, manhandling had been involved to get rid of an increasingly amused Derek, while Simon continued the freak-out he had put on hold for entertainment reasons.

A day later, Simon still pondered his approach on how to surreptitiously hand over the present. He had considered just leaving it on Raphael’s desk, but he knew that as obsessively clean Raphael liked to leave his desk after he was done with work, during its use it had a high chance of turning into a black hole sucking anything in with lesser mass.

He had considered someone else giving it to Raphael in his stead, but everyone he’d ask were the type of people, who would never let him live it down ever again for the rest of his life, so no. Just no.

The best thing he had come up with was a quick: ‘Hey, catch, this is for you, gotta scram’, but Simon figured timing was key for that, so he just kept it in the pocket of his (Raphael’s) jacket. he doubted that he was ever going to work up the nerve to actually give it to the clan leader.

Noon of the 24th started with a message from Clary, letting him know that she had returned from Idris, inviting him to spend Christmas Eve together with Luke and her; and a commotion in the hotel. Simon sent a quick reply to Clary, before following the noise to its source.

To his surprise, he spotted a huge Christmas tree placed smack in the center of the entrance hall, a group of vampires gathered around it. Tamara and Maia almost completely hidden by the lush green monster, involved in a discussion about Christmas not being Christmas without a tree.

“Religion is a personal affair. Most of us don’t celebrate Christmas anyway,” Julliard stated even though Simon saw the wheels turning behind bis blue eyes, fingers already itching to decorate the red fir.

“What he meant to say was ‘Thank you’,” Simon translated, walking up to the group with a wide grin. Maia balanced the tree easily with one hand on her shoulder while giving Simon a high-five with the other. Tamara shyly beamed at him. “He just forgot how to use the words. Old age, you know.”

Julliard shot him a glare.

“Don’t care. I fulfilled my duty,” Maia said with a salute, laughing cheekily as she pushed the tree on Simon. Tamara lifted the package she was holding in her hand and handed it over to Frederick, who misjudged its weight and jostled forward in surprise until he adjusted his strength. Confused, he pulled out a tree stand.

“Why a tree, though?” Simon asked, honestly as confused as the rest of the vampires. As with a lot of other things, after the hundredth time celebrating, even holidays lost their appeal to immortal beings. While a few still clung to their customs and traditions, it wasn’t something usually shared by the whole clan and more with close friends or in small groups, as different as their backgrounds and religions were.

“Order from Secret Santa,” Maia replied with a shrug.

Simon eyed her suspiciously, but she just continued to smile. Aware that this was all the information he was going to get, he switched his attention to the new problem at hand. Decorating the monstrosity of a tree. No, wait, the first hurdle was actually positioning it. While Simon and Jessica wrangled the tree back and forth with other vampires grunting orders of ‘left-left-we said left!’ in exasperation they eventually managed to erect it straight enough that it complied with most of the vampires apparently very sensitive sense of orthogonality. By the end, Simon was annoyed enough he was tempted to leave it like the Leaning Tower of Pisa just to be petty.

Decorating the tree turned into a heated fundamental discussion about what was considered good taste and tacky. While they had been busy with the tree, a few other vampires had searched the hotel high and low for anything usable, coming up with an impressive amount of Christmas balls, tinsel, LED lights and other Christmas decoration.

Simon watched them bicker for almost an hour, lounging in one of the new comfortable armchairs, when he eventually got bored of it and suggested, rather offhandedly and more in jest, to just split the tree in the middle.

He didn’t think they would actually follow his suggestion.

The result was… interesting. While one side was drowning in rainbow color lametta, blue Christmas balls and red wooden bead garland barely visible under it, the other half was sparsely decorated with hand-colored figurines of wood, stars of glass, multicolored LED lights and a golden-white tinsel garland. There were even candy canes and Simon tried not to think about how they had gotten into the hotel in the first place.

The tree was an atrocity.

Simon looked at it like it was a manifestation from hell. However, enduring its presence was totally worth it, when Raphael flashed by on his way from the kitchen to his office, and then abruptly stopped in the middle of the stairs, slowly backtracking to stare at the tree for several long minutes, blinking, rubbing his eyes like he had to make sure it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

Everyone in the entrance hall watched him expectantly for a verdict.

Raphael opened his mouth. And then left without saying anything.

Simon still caught himself chuckling about it hours later, on his way to Luke’s apartment.

Christmas with Clary and Luke was sad. It was a calm evening, as they picked out a tree for the apartment and decorated it, sharing quiet stories of Jocelyn, laughing wetly at the more rambunctious ones and lingering in the warm, fond memories of all of them sitting around a huge table eating the food she had prepared, always too much even with a werewolf present.

Downworlder politics was a banned topic, but they talked about Clary’s training a little, talked about how everyone had been in her absence, what she had missed. She was surprised to hear about Simon’s vacation at home, was happy for him, when he told her that his mother and sister had accepted him as a vampire. Luke talked about work, how his pack was doing, that they had grown more stable. Simon talked about the sudden appearance of the Christmas tree in the hotel.

They ate Chinese takeout, while Simon slurped his blood. Then exchanged the presents they had prepared according to the rules set years ago. Something from the heart, below $10, hand-made. Simon had taken some crocheting lessons from Maria after he had been surfing the web for inspiration, adamant to make key chain crochet dolls for both of them. They were supposed to look like Luke and Clary, but realizing that it was impossible for him with his limited experience he decided to go for an easier design and after several failed attempts that had Maria falling off the couch laughing, he managed to produce two recognizable penguins, one in orange/white and the other in navy blue/white.

Clary got them different tokens adorned with runes for good luck and happiness. Simon’s looked like a metal coin, a silver-colored chain looped through a hole in the middle. It took him a moment to realize that the token Clary had gotten for Luke was one of her mother’s rings.

Luke presented them with vouchers for whatever, which startled laughter out of both of them as they opened the letter and literally read the word ‘Voucher’ and beneath ‘Free Ticket for Whatever’, while Luke explained it meant they could call him, whenever, and he would come and no questions asked, no matter what situation they were in. Simon would have loved to have that voucher for that one time when he was 16 and gotten super drunk at one of his Rebecca’s friends birthday parties.

Simon left shortly before sunrise, hours after Luke and Clary had fallen asleep, curled up together on the couch. He draped a blanket over them, warmly smiling at the sight. They hadn’t talked about the conversation from before Clary had left yet, but there was enough time for that later. Right now, he was content with his best friend back.

When he returned to the Dumort, he found Raphael staring at the Christmas tree with a contemplative frown. The hotel was quiet, most vampires already asleep apart from the few on watch duty playing cards in one of the common rooms. Curious, Simon stopped next to Raphael, looking up at the huge tree as well.

“Like a train wreck, isn’t it?”

“An attack to my optic nerve,” Raphael chuckled amused. “They said it was your idea.”

“Hey! That’s slander.” Simon felt almost insulted at being made the scapegoat for something like that. “First of all, I was joking. Not my fault they took it seriously. Secondly, I didn’t know it would turn out like _th_ _is_.”

Raphael reached out, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he let his fingers trail over the loose tinsel. “There was never enough for my brothers.” His voice was quiet, nostalgic as he wrapped some of the plastic around his finger. “It was getting everywhere. My mother used to complain about it a lot. We’d still find it in the house weeks after the tree was already gone.” Raphael chuckled to himself, pulling a handful from the tree, its absence not even noticeable considering how much was on there.

He played with it for a brief moment, letting it run through his fingers before turning to Simon and unceremoniously dumping it on his head. Simon almost squeaked at the unexpected gesture, but instead lifted his head as if he could see the tinsel on his head that way, then raising both eyebrows at the other vampire.

“Felt like it,” Raphael replied to his wordless question, shrugging. “Looks good on you.”

“Guess rainbow is my color then.” Simon reached for the loose strands on his head, tried to bundle them and then placed it back against the side of his head. “Think I should get extensions?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Raphael stared at him in contemplation, one hand suddenly coming up to turn Simon’s face to get a view of his side profile. “I prefer you the way you’re.”

It was a joke. Simon knew it, but his brain still paused at the playful response. Swallowing around whatever feeling was making its way up his throat, and he honestly wasn’t willing to analyze that right now, he spoke up again. “So, Mister Secret Santa-iago,” Raphael looked pained at the flat word-play, retreating like he had to bodily distance himself to get away from it. “Why did you order a Christmas Tree from the werewolves?”

“I didn’t.”

Simon raised both eyebrows. “No?”

“Is this something I’d do?”

“Well… yes.”

Raphael glared at him.

“But who else would?”

“Why don’t you ask one of the wolves?”

Simon squinted his eyes suspiciously at Raphael, trying to spot a lie but gave up, when all he received was a wicked smirk. It wasn’t important anyway. The tree was there, it didn’t turn out to be a Trojan horse so they might as well (not) enjoy the sight of it. Lowering his arm, Simon untangled the tinsel and tried to locate a spot for it.

This was probably a good time, he thought in the silence, as he placed the tinsel somewhere remotely close to where Raphael had taken it out from, the present in his pocket weighting like lead. Worrying his lip, aware that the moment was going to pass soon, he eventually gave up with a sigh. “Here,” he said after another seconds hesitation, pulling the present out of his pocket and casually throwing it at Raphael, who caught it easily. “For you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Present. Gift. Nothing major. I know you don’t do Christmas. Just… a general thank you, I guess,” he said, trying to go for nonchalance but missing hard.

Raphael looked at him, at the box, back to Simon. The utter confusion mixing with pleasant surprise when it finally sunk in what was going on, was probably worth the humiliation. Simon wondered when Raphael had received a gift last, if he was, dare he assume, tentatively _happy_ to get a present _from Simon_. Still, he was pretty sure that emotion was going to flip over as soon as Raphael found out what was inside, because, as Simon stood there dumbly, staring at the sleek box, it finally dawned on him why Derek had been such an ass about the whole thing.

Raphael was probably expecting jewelry. The design of the box, in form and length, was typical for necklaces. Then again, Raphael wouldn’t even _accept_ jewelry from him, considering how often he complained over Simon’s fashion sense. Still, the last thing Raphael would expect was a measly pen. Dammit. Was it actually possible to die of embarrassment?

“Please don’t open it in front of me,” he exclaimed abruptly, realizing that his anxiety was about to kick in and this time it wasn’t the rambling but the freezing type. Raphael scrunched his nose, head tilting to the side in question.

“It’s… sort of… well… just not what you expect. Probably. Please scrub your expectations. And let’s never talk about this again.”

“Am I allowed to express my gratitude anyway?” Raphael asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You might wanna wait with that. After you’ve opened it.”

Raphael’s expression softened somewhat as he placed one hand behind Simon’s neck, pulling him closer as he leaned forward as if to tell him a secret. “Thank you, Simon,” he all but breathed against Simon’s ear, his voice lower in range than usual.

Simon stuttered something indistinguishable at the tickle against his neck, before he had enough wits about himself to sing-song a ‘You’re welcome’ in his best Dwayne Johnson imitation and then excused himself for the day, hurrying back to his room. Raphael’s touch lingered until Simon dropped face first into his bed, trying to suffocate himself with the pillow.

Raphael Santiago was the anti-Christ.

Raphael didn’t throw the present back into his face in crude disappointment at the content. Neither did he bring the topic up again, just as Simon had asked. But he did react to everyone asking about the pen with a smug grin. Simon didn’t know what to do with that, because it was one of his three default expressions for any given situation.

On another note, Simon was willing to bet his firstborn that Derek, that fucker, was the reason Raphael was even asked about it in the first place, because _come on_ , it was _a pen_. How many people actually took notice of them and went all ‘Well that’s a nice fountain pen, where did you get it? _smirk wink wink at Simon_ ’? Raphael didn’t get that much attention from his personal fashion fans when he wore a new jacket!

Was some privacy really so much too ask for?

Simon let it slide though, because there had been so many reactions Raphael could have pulled out to humiliate Simon further. He could have sardonically spun some tale about a secret admirer or a fan, obnoxiously hinting at the sub-par decision-making skills and horrendous taste in presents. Instead he plainly told everyone to keep their hands off his property whenever someone reached out to take it and to mind their own business when they were pushing a little too far in their intent to tease Simon.

If Simon smiled to himself every time he saw Raphael using the Provincial, nobody had to know.


	14. 'Scuse Me While I Kiss The Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year, snowball fights, a chat with Clary and some Spanish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than expected because of several reasons. One of them university. Exams are coming up and I'll be busy up till February with papers, presentations and studying so I can't say how often I'll be able to post during that time. I also estimate that I'll add more chapters than I wanted because the story keeps growing. 
> 
> However, I'm as motivated as ever to finish it. So much that I keep adding stuff (I'm so sorry). So even if I'm busy and even if I can't post every week, I'll frequently work on it to distract myself from learning. 
> 
> Thanks to FanaticShipper07 for beta'ing this story! So glad to have you! <3
> 
> Title from Jimi Hendrix - Purple Haze
> 
> **EDIT: GH &T$S&U!! What's happening? Seriously, I love you so much, thank you for all the love this story receives! It makes me so happy!**

With a hint of nostalgia Simon followed the stairs leading up to the roof top, smiling as he remembered the first time he had been dragged that way, knife to his throat, scared out of his wits, clueless as to what was going on, what was going to happen with Raphael threatening to kill him.

The memory let him snort out a laugh. He had been afraid of Raphael at the beginning. That feeling had been replaced by undeniable trust and resilient care by now. The latter being the reason he’d ditched the New Years party he’d been at with Clary, Izzy and his vampire friends to seek out Raphael, who had decided to spend the night away from all the noise.

Simon found Raphael sitting on the parapet wall of the upper roof, staring up into the cloudy sky as a few snow flakes lazily sauntered down around him. Simon approached him slowly, giving him enough time to send him away if he wanted to be alone. But Raphael didn’t move at all as Simon’s footsteps crunched in the snow and he eventually settled down next to him, noticing with some relief, the jut from the outer ventilation shaft below his feet. A hint of security in case he was going to slip. Simon could totally see his clumsy self doing that.

“Didn’t you leave for Pandemonium?” Raphael asked, inclining his head but eyes still focused on the sky.

“Yeah,” Simon replied with a shrug. “Wasn’t my scene.”

It was only a half-lie. He had fun the first two hours, dancing pressed between Clary and Izzy, getting dragged around by Bernice and being introduced to more of her friends like she was trying to get Simon as familiar with the street Downworlders as he had gotten with Downworlder High Society. Simon wasn’t really bad with remembering faces, but names were the worst. He was slowly approaching his limits, therefore he started to keep his own journal with names, more or less detailed descriptions of job, appearance, character traits, and whatever else might be useful.

It was getting full.

When Simon had taken on the work of Raphael’s secretary/advisor he hadn’t known that he was going to build a social network spanning the whole spectrum of the Shadow World. It was almost ironic, considering how bad he was with people, especially when he was nervous, his limited resources for social interactions to begin with notwithstanding.

When the dancing, talking and socializing started to bore him, he had told himself that this was the only reason he’d rather be back at the hotel. Not because his mind drifted to Raphael more often than he was willing to admit. It might have factored into that decision. Maybe. By the time Simon let Arya know he was returning home, receiving a funny look from her in reply before she pulled him into a hug, Simon had reached a point where he simply admitted to himself that he wanted to be with Raphael and that was all the reason he needed.

Raphael replied with a hum to his words, thankfully dropping the topic as he pointed to the sky with one finger. “Do you know astrology?”

“Not really,” Simon admitted, following the digit to look at the clouds hiding most of the stars. “You?”

“Never bothered.” Raphael leaned back, hands reaching down to the half-wall to balance his weight. “But Magnus is always going on about how you find answers in the stars.”

“He’s a warlock. They’re into tea leaf and coffee ground readings and stuff like that, right?”

“Now I understand why he refuses to say your name.”

Simon rolled his eyes. He had gotten used to it. Worse he had began to react to every name starting with an S leaving Magnus’ mouth, even when people with the name were present. It amused Magnus immensely and Simon figured, amused was always better than annoyed. “Seriously, though,” he switched back, brows knitted in concern. “Is something bothering you?”

There was a pause, before Raphael turned to look at him with an unreadable expression, his frown deepening the longer he looked at Simon as if he was trying to solve a puzzle. Simon shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Raphael must have noticed, as his expression softened and he turned away again. “A decision.”

Simon looked at the few stars visible through the clouds and light pollution, then back to Raphael. “Anything I can help you with?”

The other scoffed, but didn’t give an answer. Simon shouldn’t feel that disappointed. He wasn’t really expecting Raphael to open up to him the same way he did about almost every part of his life. Raphael wasn’t big on sharing as it was.

Whatever the decision was, it was apparent that Raphael wanted to work it out by himself, so he was probably just intruding anyway even if he hadn’t been sent away. “I guess, I’ll leave you to it then,” Simon sighed, already debating the merits of returning to Pandemonium versus staying at the hotel playing video games. When he was about to get up, Raphael grabbed his hand.

“Talk.”

Puzzled, Simon stared at their hands. “What?”

Raphael looked away, lips firmly pressed together. “You can help… by talking to me.”

“That’s new,” Simon said, surprised. ‘Talk to me’ wasn’t a phrase commonly directed at him. Even if the other vampires endured his rambling, they didn’t necessarily encourage it. “I’m more used to ‘Shut up’.” Still somewhat hesitant, Simon settled back trying to get comfortable. Raphael was probably asking for a distraction from whatever he was thinking about. That’s something Simon could provide. No problem. He was born to do this. “Any topic in particular?”

“No.”

“You sure you want me to prattle away? I can do it for hours.”

Raphael threw his head back, a smirk on his lips. “I know.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re getting into.” Simon laughed, then began to talk about everything popping into his head, switching topics along with his random thread of thought. Luckily, after a few minutes, Raphael started to join his one-sided conversation by throwing comments in and eventually they settled into a dialogue.

Raphael began to relax after a while, telling stories about some of the more absurd New Years celebrations he had witnessed in his long life, while Simon added a few embarrassing stories of his own. Like when he was little and stole a bottle of his mother’s sparkling wine, downing half of it before his parents found him. Or when he was older, burning his fingers lighting fireworks, accidentally setting the sleeve of his jacket on fire and Clary throwing a bucket of ice cold water over his head to extinguish it, leading to a nasty pneumonia.

When they heard the countdown from neighboring buildings, Simon excitedly joined in, nudging Raphael with his elbow to count along but only received an exasperated eye roll. Still, at zero both looked up expectantly and watched fireworks explode over the skyline of Manhattan. They had a surprisingly good view from the roof top of the hotel. Even surrounded by skyscrapers, colorful sparkles lightened up around them, smoke clouding the air. Strangers down on the streets greeted each other with cheers of ‘Happy New Year’, some of them already drunk enough that Simon feared them passing out in the cold.

“I guess this year wasn’t as boring,” Raphael concluded, leaning forward to get a better view of what was going on in the street below them.

“Yeah, it was anything but boring,” Simon agreed. “Not sure what to call it though.”

“Deadly?” Raphael supplied helpfully. “Eventful? Chaotic? Annoying?”

“Fun.”

“Fun.”

Simon turned to meet his surprised gaze. “Sure. Despite everything, I had a lot of fun.”

After a moment, Raphael tilted his head, snorting a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

With that, they continued to watch the fireworks in silence until their light faded, the air tasting and smelling of the burned residue of gun powder, before they picked up where they had left of, talking about everything that came to mind.

That night Raphael was revealing details about himself unprompted in such a casual way that Simon dared to venture further, asking questions he’d had shied away from before. Raphael didn’t seem to mind his curiosity and answered patiently, appearing mostly amused.

Their conversations went from shallow topics to deeper territory with every follow-up question. Maybe part of Simon was trying to see how far he could go before hitting Raphael’s walls. But when Raphael didn’t even bat an eyelash when he explained how he had died, Simon realized that there was no wall at all anymore.

Hearing the story, Simon had a hard time connecting what he knew from their clan, from the vampires in the clan to the situation so many years back. At first he was angry. At Lily. At Derek. At everyone who had been there, watching Raphael die, then kill his sire in cold fury before slaughtering his own friends in hunger.

Simon understood that this was what haunted Raphael in his nightmares, what he was apologizing for when he woke up before he registered his surroundings and slammed down hard on his agitation.

It was similar to Simon’s own death, if even more traumatic. When Simon had been killed, everyone he now knew and loved, everyone he had made friends with, Arya, Bernice, Daniel, they had all been there that day, hidden in the shadows, letting Simon walk right into Camille’s trap.

He had come to terms with everyone’s passive involvement a long time ago. Raphael must have too, otherwise he wouldn’t have fought to get rid of Camille trying to protect the clan.

There was no reason for Simon to linger on the past, so he let it go.

When the first vampires returned to the hotel, Simon knew it was time to head back inside. Raphael was already switching back to clan leader, steering the conversation to less personal topics. The sun was about to come up anyway and Simon, while vampires didn’t notice much of the cold, felt the dampness seeping into his clothes, making them cling unpleasantly to his skin.

Considering this, Simon really didn’t know what compelled him to pick up a handful of snow. Maybe it was because Raphael had told him how different winters used to be when he was a kid. How they had run around in the streets, snow inches high, building snow men and making snow angels. Maybe it was because of how different the Raphael in the stories appeared. Livelier, ignorant, rambunctious. A troublemaker.

Simon still saw glimpses of the person he used to be. The kind of person that got caught smoking in the rest rooms. Who broke into the library to steal and destroy blatantly racist books. Who was usually found playing soccer with his friends in his free time. Who argued with his younger brothers every time they wanted to tag along. Who got in trouble with the police for beating up a white guy sexually harassing his ten year old neighbor.

It was the same type of person who talked a whole clan into harassing Daniel by giving him stuffed animals. Who was found innocently walking around with a mouse on his shoulder while talking to Derek, fully aware how the other hated the rodents. It was the Raphael that gave Simon a secret smile, index finger to his lips when Elliott stormed into the office, complaining loudly about someone messing with the shortcuts of his phone _again_ , after Simon had seen Raphael holding it a few hours ago. Who wouldn’t let anyone talk down to Simon no matter their standing and influence, standing up for him and bearing all the consequences.

It was everything he was robbed of the second he decided to pursue a murderer killing children in the streets, leaving grieving and mourning parents. Raphael was forced to grow up at an age where all Simon worried about had been failing grades and missing band practice. He had grown older in an environment of spite, where he had to hide who he was and become hardened and jaded.

Maybe all Simon wanted to do was tickle that hidden youth simmering through his actions at times.

Maybe that was why he threw that first snowball.

It didn’t even hit.

All Raphael did was take one step to the side to avoid it. Then he threw a look over his shoulder back at Simon, raising both eyebrows.

It wasn’t supposed to turn into a snowball fight, but when it did, it was _on_. Unsurprisingly, Simon lost spectacularly. Not even half an hour later, snow was sticking to most parts of his clothes and hair, not even melting on a body that didn’t produce heat. Raphael was cheekily throwing a ball up in the air, catching it again, taunting Simon with a smug smirk. The only white on him was from the few snow flakes still falling down.

It was infuriatingly adorable.

That didn’t mean Simon intended to actually run him over when he used super speed to throw himself at Raphael.

Well, he did. More or Less. He had wanted to wipe that smug expression off Raphael’s face, maybe stuff heaps of snow down the back of his jacket in retaliation. Simon was as surprised as Raphael when they both suddenly went flying, everything happening in slow-motion.

From all those long hours of training, Simon knew how difficult it usually was to catch Raphael off-guard and make him go down. The few times he had managed had probably been some form of positive reinforcement, so he wouldn’t get too frustrated with his lack of progress. Raphael had made it painfully clear that Simon only got lucky by using a single bored look while congratulating him with sarcasm dripping from his words.

Now, Raphael only let out a yelp of surprise, at ease with being held down, expression still openly amused and unguarded. His black hair was spilling against the snow in stark contrast, dark eyes looking up at Simon without an ounce of distrust or reservations.

The realization of how beautiful Raphael was struck him light lighting. Just like the three words suddenly popping into his head, barely holding them back from spilling over his lips without consulting his brain first. Simon felt like he was desperately holding on to his last remaining shred of sanity but even that seemed to slowly slip away as he stared at the other’s lips curled into a smirk.

He wanted to kiss him.

And _that_ was a blow he didn't expect.

Yes, Raphael was handsome.

Simon had always been aware of that. He would’ve been blind not to. And yes, Simon had caught himself more than once acknowledging the way Raphael’s tailored suits emphasized his physique and lean muscles. Maybe he had followed the movements of Raphael’s lips closely more often than he could make excuses for. So what if he had wondered, even _a lot,_ how Raphael’s gracefully long fingers could tear through a demon’s chest one moment, and gently wrap around Simon’s hand in reassurance the next. So _maybe_ Simon had been seeking Raphael’s proximity to a slightly obsessive degree.

_It wasn’t supposed to mean anything._

But it did.

He had vaguely caught up on that around Christmas.

In the days leading to New Years, Simon had done an outstanding job ignoring some of the more persistent thoughts surfacing whenever he’d caught himself staring at Raphael; his own giddy happiness when he recalled a particular interaction; the niggling feeling that time spent together no matter how much was never quite enough; the way his body almost instinctively gravitated towards Raphael as soon as he entered the same room; the urge to reach out and touch and just be close.

He had banished those thoughts to the back of his mind, hoping they’d go away if he ignored them long enough.

Now the epiphany that it had already been too late, hit him on the head with the force of a sledgehammer, splitting his skull open and tearing the truth out off him like molasses, displaying it in a mockingly cheerful imitation of those obnoxious bright Las Vegas neon light advertisements. While he had Raphael pinned on his back underneath him.

“Fuck me,” Simon cursed in exasperation, followed by an even more panicked exclamation of “And fuck my life”. What was _wrong_ with him? He was barely over Clary. How the hell had he gotten into this situation _again_?

For some reason, his mind helpfully decided to rewind all the way back to the day he had asked Lily to take him back into the clan. In retrospect yes, that had probably been the first mistake of many.

At his outburst, Raphael shifted beneath him to free his arm, startling Simon out of his thoughts as he lifted a hand to brush snow out of Simon’s hair with an amused snort. “You alright there, Lewis?”

Jesus fucking Christ, even his _voice_ suddenly sounded more seductive. Letting out a stream of unintelligible curses, Simon finally realized the situation they were in, how much their bodies were touching with Simon draped over him, Raphael’s head boxed between his arms.

With a startled shriek, Simon abruptly jumped to his feet, apologizing profusely while offering Raphael a hand. The other vampire took it without hesitation, letting himself be pulled up. Then, without thinking, Simon rushed to pat the snow from Raphael’s clothes. “I thought you’d avoid it,” he muttered as he danced around the Latino to reach the snow on the back.

“Didn’t think you’d actually tackle me,” the other admitted with a laugh.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Simon continued to apologize until the last trace of snow was removed from all parts he dared to touch. When he stepped back after he was done, he put more distance than firmly necessary between them, all the while trying to reel the panic in until he was in the safety of his room. _Then_ he could panic. Throw a tantrum. Maybe even cry a little.

“It’s fine,” Raphael assured, likely reading his timid behavior wrong. “You just caught me off-guard.”

Despite himself, Simon let out a sign in relief. Mostly because even though Raphael had noticed his obviously weird reaction, he was linking it to the wrong conclusion. Small mercies. “Have to mark this day in my calendar,” Simon joked with forced cheerfulness, making his way to the door in a hurry to get away from this situation as soon as possible.

He felt like puking and he had important business to attend to.

Like maybe banging his head against the wall for a few hours.

“Simon?” A hand was suddenly on his shoulder as he rushed into the hallway. Jerking under the abrupt and unexpected contact, Simon turned on his heels, making sure he moved out off reach at the same time. Luckily, Raphael didn’t seem to take offense to it, just shot him a curious look. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just… tired.”

Raphael looked at him like he saw right through that lie, but instead of calling him out on it he took a measured step forward, maybe gauging his reaction. “Thank you. For tonight.”

Simon clenched his jaw, nodding at the words. “Sure. Anytime. I hope I could help. A little.”

“You did.” Raphael’s lips curled into an almost shy smile. Or maybe thanks to his annoying revelation, Simon’s brain was now wired in a new disgustingly delusional way, making him see things that simply weren’t there. Just great. Simon already saw himself fretting over the smallest gestures in the most asinine way imaginable. The next days were going to be so much fun.

“That’s good,” Simon replied, pointing with his thumb in the general direction of his room. “I better go to bed now. if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just rushed out a quick ‘good night’ and then ran off. If Simon hadn’t been on the brink of a panic attack, he might have felt bad for the abruptness, but he really needed to deal with this first.

However, he wasn’t ready to do it alone.

“Clarissa Fairchild! When were you going to tell me?”

‘Wha…? Simon?’ Clary mumbled into the phone. ‘Tell you what?’

“Look at my message. Then delete it before it destroys your phone.”

Clary grumbled something indecent in reply, her voice groggy from interrupted sleep, as Simon had woken her at six in the morning. Knowing her, she had probably gone to sleep only a few hours ago, partying through the night the way she had before Simon had left them to hang out with Raphael just to get _insolently assaulted_ by his own asshole of a conscience.

There was some shuffling on the line, more muttering, then a ‘You _w_ _hat?’_. Simon loved Clary’s ability to sound offended, flabbergasted and drowsy at the same time, slurring even the shortest of words while yelling them. ‘Why the hell do you think I’d know _that_?’

“Because you’ve always known before me!”

‘What are you talking about?’

“Remember Bernadette Granier in second grade? Julia Baker in fifth grade? You, ever since ninth grade? You’ve always known!”

Clary was silent for a moment. Then: ‘You knew?’

“Knew what?”

‘That I knew.’

Simon furrowed his brow, slightly insulted. “Of course. Nobody says ‘you’re my best friend’ as often as you did, if they weren’t trying to drive a point home. I just choose to maybe ignore it.”

‘Oh.’

They never had a proper talk about Simon’s feelings. Clary had decided to keep silent, letting him know that he was important and her best friend, but nothing more, while Simon had always assumed that she only needed some more time to figure it out. It took him witnessing her making out with several other guys to realize that she’d never see him as an option.

‘So,’ she cleared her throat. ‘Raphael. How did _that_ happen?’

“Fuck if I know,” he groaned, falling face first into his bed. “I didn’t even know I was into men. Apparently I’m as straight as a curve. More a bent maybe? Or is it a dent in the road?”

Clary chuckled, then let out a gasp. ‘Oh wow. Everything makes sense now.’

“Glad one of us gets it, because I sure as hell don’t.”

‘No, Simon. I mean, you, me, Raphael, I…’ she stopped, but Simon waited patiently for her to continue while flipping onto his back, staring at the ceiling and decidedly _not_ recalling anything Raphael related. Not his sanest idea ever, considering their topic.

‘Alright, okay,’ Clary started after having sorted through her thoughts. ‘That day we talked and you gave me Lily’s number, you said I misunderstood. I know we haven’t properly talked about that yet and I’m not going there, let’s do that another time, but you said I misunderstood a lot. I was angry, because in all fairness, you’ve never really talked to me about Raphael. At the beginning I thought it was because you two didn’t get along.’

Her voice trailed off for a second.

‘Which was strange, because the few times you did talk about him you’d paint him in a good light. I assumed you were trying to reassure me that everything’s fine. But then I heard from Bernice that you two actually get along. Then you showed up at the Shadow Hunter meetings, and I watched you interact. And may…’ She paused again, taking a heavy breath. ‘And maybe I was annoyed, that you wouldn’t tell me. And maybe I thought I was losing you to the vampires.’

Simon listened to her words with mixed feelings, wanting to dissolve her doubts of losing him, but at the same time surprised that she had worried about it at all. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Clary loved him just as ferociously as he loved her, even if it was in a mother/big sister kind of way that he was only now beginning to appreciate.

‘When you told me you’d talked to Raphael about your issue with me asking the clan for help before you talked to me, I got angry. I used to be the person you went to with your troubles and I know I haven’t been around much, but this was my business, too. And yet you choose to talk to him first.’

“Clary,” Simon said softly, “you know you’re my best friend.”

‘I know there are things you’re not telling me. And that’s fine, Simon. It’s not about me anyway. It’s just… You’re right, I misunderstood. Because I didn’t have all the information. I just realized the reason I didn't was because Raphael is your blue hair.’

Simon held the phone away from himself to stare at it in irritation. Clary wouldn’t see, but he still had the urge to do nevertheless. “Excuse me?”

‘You know it’s true!’ Clary accused with a noise that sounded like a laughter and a hiss. ‘You were hiding Raphael! That’s why I didn’t know anything! You’ve always done that with something you’d think I’d not approve of! Just like when you decided to dye your hair blue! You never told me because you thought I was going to talk you out of it!’

With righteous fury, Clary went on with her list of all the things Simon had hidden from her. Well, that wasn’t exactly the reason Simon had done it, but the overall argument was still standing. Simon had tried to excuse his reluctance to talk about Raphael by pretending that Clary probably wouldn’t want to know anyway, when it had been him who wanted to keep that part to himself, safely tucked away from Clary’s scrutinizing and analyzing. Simon didn’t want to share Raphael with Clary, wanted what was between them for himself, away from prying eyes and subtly poisoning questions.

Simon let out a long-suffering groan that immediately stopped Clary’s rant. This should have been his first fucking clue. They used to talk about everything, even more private and embarrassing topics weren’t off-limits between them, so Simon trying to keep the details of his friendship with Raphael to himself should have made an alarm go off in his brain.

Clary let him wallow in his own stupidity for a moment, before she let out a long sigh. ‘Alright then. Out with it.’

“With what?”

‘What happened?’

Simon reached for a pillow and buried his head in it, instinctively trying to suffocate himself. A loaded question, because he had no idea what had happened. Or when. Or how. Or why.

It had just happened.

And if Simon was being honest, really completely truly honest, he _probably_ might have been a teeny tiny bit aware of it. At least of the fact that he was _maybe_ a little attracted to Raphael. But the feelings part, that had jumped on his back like a monster in the night, punched him in the gut, whacked him over the head with a chair to finally bring him to his knees with trained efficiency and as soon as he was down, proceeded to kick him.

Motherfucker.

“Heavemild,” Simon answered, words stifled by the pillow, that was failing to do the only job it had in that moment. Stupid pillow.

‘Repeat that.’

Simon groaned. “He smiled.”

‘He smiled,’ she repeated toneless.

Simon couldn’t fault Clary in her dubiety. Simon had been back to the clan for almost a year, had spent about four months _obsessing_ over his clan leader because he wanted their budding friendship back, not even _once_ asking himself _why_ he had been this adamant, concerned, frustrated, confused and hurt in the first place. While it might have not been feelings back then, the seed had probably been planted somewhere around his first time in the hotel and had been nourished with the time they had spent together, either working or just chilling.

For Christ’s sake. There had been so many red flags that should have made him aware of what was going on. With an almost painful wince, Simon remembered the ride on the motorcycle, the way he had been so nervous about being close to Raphael. Remembered all the times he had craved the other’s touch and eagerly accepted everything he was offered.

With some mortification Simon recalled the night in his mother’s dining room, when he had taken Raphael’s hand and interlaced their fingers without a second thought. He intentionally banged the back of his head hard against the headboard at the memory. Of course Raphael had lost his composure at that gesture, considering how fucking intimate it was. Simon was lucky he had let it go, probably writing it off to Simon’s nerves.

A stupid voice in his head was shouting at that, trying to coax him into believing that Raphael wouldn’t do that for just anyone, before he ruthlessly drowned it out. He honestly wasn’t doing himself any favors with that line of thought. It was bad enough how long it had taken him to figure it out in the first place.

Simon wanted to blame his body, that traitor.

There were no signs of sweaty hands, wildly beating heart, blush rising to his face, blood vigorously pumping through his veins. The way he had experienced it when he used to be in love with Clary. There had only been his awkwardness, desire to be close, curiosity to learn more. Seriously, it could have been anything!

“That’s all.” Simon affirmed finally.

‘Just a smile.’

“That was all it took.”

It was a lie.

It was more than that.

The smile was the starting point, followed by the way Raphael had looked at him with open enjoyment. With trust. How it had rendered Simon speechless. It was about everything it _meant_ and what it implied. It was about how Simon was the one who’d made Raphael react that way and he wanted to make it happen again. And again. He wanted Raphael to be happy. Wanted him to laugh and be able to enjoy his long life. Especially after all the crap he had endured in all those years. And Simon was willing to do everything in his power to make that happen.

It was how the only tangible thought in his head in that moment had been ‘I love you’. That he almost said it with a bluntness that made him question his own sanity.

Fucking _‘I love you’_.

A crush he could have dealt with. _Infatuation_ he could have dealt with. But no, he suddenly had to find himself _in love,_ entirely skipping the falling part. Yet, now he knew what that feeling was he never quite managed to define, instead chose to shove deep down because there was always something more important to worry about.

If he had stopped for one minute to analyze it, to take a look at it, this wouldn’t have come as such a shock to him. Maybe he could have stopped it before getting hurt. Because this was Raphael. Raphael didn’t do relationships. Or romantic attraction. And even if he did, he sure wouldn’t do it with _Simon_.

“I’m so screwed.”

Clary made a noise of confusion, sniffling like she had been dozing off but startled awake by his words again. ‘‘cause he’s not into guys?’

“No.” Simon grimaced, unsure how much he should reveal. “Well, essentially, yes.”

‘Oh. How’d you know?’

“I’ve been told.”

Now that he thought about it, his feelings must’ve been obvious to Lily weeks ago. She had gone out of her way to give him a detail of her life that she probably rather wanted to forget, dropping hints on Simon in order to prepared him, make him realize before he got his heart broken. Well, she hadn’t counted on Simon’s super power, which was being fucking dense to a painful degree.

Oh God, if Lily knew, did Raphael too? Was this what Derek had been hinting at when they were talking about something Raphael knew that Simon didn’t?

Simon gripped the phone tight, suddenly needing something to latch onto.

 _Fear is more than the feeling of that scares me_ , he remembered Raphael’s words, letting out a high-pitched noise of distress as he spun the example further. _Attraction_ was more than ‘This person is hot’. _Lust_ was more than ‘I want to fuck them’. _Love_ was more than ‘Oh, I really like that person’.

Simon still remembered how his body had reacted around Clary, how a single look had made his breath hitch, a lingering touch turning him into a nervous wreck, heart beating up to his throat and palms sweating. Blush rising to his cheeks at inappropriate thoughts, skin flushing with want whenever she was close.

Simon never blushed anymore. Never felt heat creep up his face. Would never have his heart beating so fast it was making him dizzy again.

Honestly, _fuck. His. Life._

‘So you talked about that?’

Simon was confused by the question, too lost in his thoughts. It took him a moment to backtrack their conversation. “No. Lily told me.”

‘I see. What are you going to do now?’

Simon threw the question back and forth in his head. “I don’t really know.”

Raphael didn’t like labels, but Simon knew they were friends. Raphael had helped him through too much shit by now that it was ridiculous to think otherwise. That didn’t mean Raphael was willing to reciprocate Simon’s feelings or even deal with them. At least from what Lily had told him, Raphael was capable of staying friends with someone in love with him. So even if Simon told him, and even if it would take a few months to deal with, he probably wouldn’t lose what they had at the moment. And if he had learned _anything_ from his experience with Clary, dragging it out was probably a bad idea.

However, Simon was a coward.

He couldn’t handle that kind of rejection twice. Least of all in such quick succession. While he was more or less over Clary, he was still nursing some of his larger wounds, pathetic as it was, and he really wasn’t eager to add another set that soon.

At least this time he knew it was hopeless. With Clary, hope had kept his feelings alive far over their expiration date. This wasn’t the case with Raphael, because this was doomed from the start. No need to further humiliate himself if all he had to do was remind himself that he had absolutely no chance at all.

“Shit,” he cursed at the sting that accompanied that thought.

‘Si?’

“Yeah, just…” He trailed off, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. “There’s nothing to do. I’m sure it’ll go away sooner or later.” He was a vampire. He had all the time in the world to get over this.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

Simon let out a breathy laugh. “Not really. But thank you for listening.”

‘Anytime. You know that?’

Simon swallowed around a knot in his throat. He did know. But sometimes he forgot. “I do.”

‘Alright, want me to entertain you until you fall asleep?’ Clary asked with a yawn she failed to hide. Simon glanced at the display of his digital clock, letting out an internal groan at the time. ‘Or want me to hold your hand? Metaphorically speaking.’

“No, no, it’s fine. You need to sleep.”

‘I do,’ she agreed. ‘But you’re more important.’

Simon didn’t get the love he had pictured, but he couldn’t deny that what he did have now was good. Very good even. “I think I’m fine now.”

‘Call me when you need something.’

“Yeah, thanks,” Simon said quietly. “Night, Clary.”

‘Night, Si’, she replied with a hint of worry, waiting for Simon to hang up first.

Life went on in an insultingly normal manner.

Waking up the next morning, Simon was almost embarrassed about his meltdown, when truthfully, he wasn’t a stranger to unrequited feelings. They were shitty, but it wasn’t the end of the world. So Simon gave himself two days to sort himself out, stopped once or twice for sporadic moments of self-hate which led to a few choice curse words and insults at his own stupidity and then was back on track.

He was sort of avoiding Raphael for those two days, but only sort of because honestly, he left the hotel after dusk to visit his mother and sister and returned before midnight to pick up his duties, which mostly involved Raphael anyway. The lack of awkwardness on his side when they were working together was almost stunning. Simon managed to stay focused apart from a few times he caught himself staring or got lost in daydreaming. Whenever he was spacing out for too long, Raphael would throw random objects at him, feigning innocence as soon as Simon was startled out of his thoughts. Even that was normal.

What changed was that Simon didn’t feel left out or like he was missing the punch line anymore when others made remarks hinting on his interest in Raphael. It took him some effort to recall how he used to behave when the topic was brought up in order to continue acting like he was none the wiser, but he was pretty sure Arya and Derek had instantly figured out that he finally knew. They didn’t say anything, but stopped making comments of their own and let him be. Maybe all they had wanted was for him to get his shit together. Simon knew the sentiment from all the TV shows he had watched.

Apart from that, Simon was determined to make their friendship work without it getting awkward or leaking too many feelings. Which wasn’t always easy, considering how often they were together now, but at least he had experience in that.

So it wasn’t unusual to find them both sitting together in the common room, the library or even Raphael’s room, with Raphael teaching him how to wear the Star of David or recite the Hallel in preparation for Passover. Simon returned the favor by introducing him to Marvel’s Venom. Surely it was an almost equal trade.

They still started their mornings in the kitchen, drinking blood in companionable silence, worked together in the office when Simon wasn’t running through the hotel to take care of minor disputes and problems around the Dumort or hung out with Arya and Derek in the music room or played games with everyone in the common room.

Occasionally, there were moments that gave Simon pause. When he really had to exercise will of strength to stay objective, remind himself that gestures and words didn’t mean what he wanted them to mean.

Moments like Raphael bringing him something to drink to the library, because Simon was staying up late to read up on old clan contracts. Raphael had done that before. Even when they hadn’t been on speaking terms. The difference was that Raphael kept him company now, even if they weren’t interacting. He simply busied himself with writing letters or reading Simon’s comics, now and again talking Simon into taking a break or finally going to bed.

Or every time Raphael, who had noticed that Simon kept borrowing his books, left post-its with remarks between the pages. Remarks that made Simon laugh in their blatant hate for a character, situation or the book in general. On slow days, they’d end up discussing a few of the more memorable books, sometimes bickering over interpretations or sharing opinions.

Or whenever their feet winded up slightly entangled even with them sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Simon wasn’t sure how it kept happening, whether his body had a mind of its own and just followed its desire for contact, but Raphael didn’t seem to mind, so Simon stopped questioning it.

As much as Simon liked these quiet moments, they were the hardest to deal with. Then he needed some distance and distract himself from his wishful thinking.

Like now.

All because Raphael was leaning a little too close, chuckling about a phrase Simon misunderstood in one of the law texts he was reading in preparation for a meeting with Lazar. Even though he remained cautiously optimistic, it was still the first time Lazar had reached out with a personal offer, so Raphael had been in an exceptionally good mood ever since the arrival of the invitation from the other clan leader a week into the new year.

Simon blamed this for almost getting hugged from behind.

Really, he had just been innocently sitting in an armchair, asking a question, when Raphael came up from behind to take a look at the sentence that didn’t make sense at all no matter how often Simon read over it. Suddenly Raphael’s face was right next to Simon’s, his hair tickling the skin of his neck, the weight of an arm on Simon’s shoulder as Raphael reached over to point at the fifth or sixth or maybe tenth foot mark in a very long run-on sentence extending over several paragraphs.

Simon was used to getting hugged by Clary when he still had a crush on her. He was used to sharing a sleeping bag with her and seeing her half naked on the beach. He had her riding on his shoulders in hot pants during concerts, naked legs clinging around his torso. They used to fall asleep on the couch after long movie nights, huddled together under one blanket. In short, Simon was used to being intimately close with someone he was heavily crushing on. The level of proximity with Raphael didn’t even compare in intimacy _at all_. Still, even if his heart was unable to beat up to his throat to show him how much this random act of familiarity affected him, he _knew_ it did.

Simon wished he’d never realized his feelings.

That thought hit him so hard, he stammered an excuse and bolted out of the office in the blink of an eye, when Raphael tried to make sure he understood an explanation Simon hadn’t even heard to begin with.

Honestly, Simon was disappointed in himself.

Restlessly pacing up and down in his room, hands threading through his hair, he had to remind himself for the umpteenth time that he wasn’t special, that this didn’t mean anything, that he shouldn’t make a big deal out of it, that Clary and him used to be so much closer and it had _never_ meant anything to her. At least not the way it had to Simon.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Simon grabbed his Spanish book and phone, deciding he might as well distract himself with something productive. The hotel was quiet, early as it was, as Simon made his way to the music room. It probably wasn’t the best choice, but the only distraction he thought of with the sun up in the sky. Leaving the hotel wasn’t really an option and he obviously couldn’t play his bass. He also didn’t have the mental capacity to sort through any legal stuff or work and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep now without slipping into a litany of self-hate.

He _could_ ram his head against the wall until someone yelled at him to keep it down, though.

Simon intentionally only ever studied Spanish during the day when most vampires were sleeping anyway, in order to hide his secret past time, one earplug in and the other out to listen for potential nightmares. He even picked the music room as it was furthest away from Raphael’s office and personal quarters and because Raphael never, really honestly practically _never_ ventured to the upper floors unless he was going up to the roof top.

As with a lot of things, Simon was wrong.

He had been listening to the reading exercise for half an hour tops, eyes following the Spanish text in his book, quietly repeating a few words, when a voice reached him through his concentration, too immersed in what he was doing to hear the actual words.

“What?” he asked startled, quickly pausing the exercise, hoping against hope that Raphael hadn’t heard it.

“I said,” Raphael repeated slowly, “your pronunciation is atrocious.”

Well, busted.

Simon sighed, pulling the earplug out. He should have known that Raphael was able to pick up on it even if he had turned the volume down to the lowest setting. “How long have you been there?”

“I heard you butchering ¿Cuáles son tus pasatiempos? [What are your hobbies?] and ¿Qué haces en tu tiempo libre? [What do you do in your free time?],” Raphael said as he entered the music room and approached him. “Is this supposed to be torture?”

Simon wanted to be eaten by an alien plant named Audrey II.

He had assumed that the repetition was barely audible. After all, he only moved his lips without much voice behind it. Maybe he hadn’t been as quiet as he had thought, or maybe Raphael’s hearing really was just _that_ good. Simon knew that Raphael was always listening to something Simon couldn’t hear, but they weren’t _werewolves_. How freaking good could his hearing _be_?

“Sorry,” Simon muttered, eyes on the book. “You weren’t supposed to hear.”

Raphael hummed in reply, then took the companion book to the audio course from his hands, studying the content a moment before clicking his tongue in disapproval. Simon hoped the notes he had scribbled at the side in his scrawny handwriting, help for pronunciation and a few translations, were unreadable enough to hide his ineptitude at learning the language. Raphael didn’t seem to look at them anyway, mostly skipping through the pages, stopping a few times to read something over.

“Want my help?”

Simon startled, staring wide eyed. “What?”

“Do you want my help? ¿Quieres mi ayuda?”

“Wait.” Simon had trouble processing. “Are you really offering?”

Raphael looked back, narrowing his eyes. “I am. Why?”

“Don’t you think it’s stupid?”

“I don’t.”

“But you think it’s funny.”

Raphael huffed, gave a short shrug. “The book is. It’s out-dated and stiff, but good for basics.” He handed it back as he sat down next to Simon on the piano stool. Simon had to take a breath to avoid his brain running away with any fantasies, when he realized they were touching from shoulder to thigh. For God’s sake, he hadn’t been this affected with Clary sleeping half-naked in his bed! Stupid brain. “Languages are meant to be spoken. I think it’s better in person,” Raphael waved at the book, offering Simon an encouraging smile. “Ahora, ¿quieres mi ayuda?”

It took Simon a split-second to reach a decision. If Raphael was offering, he might as well accept it, even if his initial plan had been to keep his distance. Hell had to freeze over before Simon even contemplated pushing the other vampire away. “Sure, if that’s alright with you?”

“No entiendo inglés,” Raphael said in an almost melodic voice, leaning back on the chair to get a better view of Simon as he expectantly lifted both eyebrows.

Simon scoffed in faked annoyance, rolling his head to the side. “Sí, ¿por favor?”

Raphael’s immediate reply flew completely over Simon’s head. This was going to be a disaster, he thought, mildly appalled at his lack in progress.He was so going to make fool of himself. “I have no idea what you just said.”

The Latino chuckled, then placed the book between them so they both could read from it. “I said,” he explained, stretching the following words deliberately slow. “Eso es, así está mejor. Meaning, ‘that’s better’.”

“I thought you didn’t understand English.”

Raphael leveled him with a glare that definitely asked him if Simon really wanted to play this game. He could admit, being a smart-ass when Raphael offered him help was probably a bad idea. So, Simon tried to divert from himself by pointing at the exercise he had been working on. “Let’s get started, then.”

Raphael rolled his eyes in exasperation, but read the first sentence anyway, then waited for Simon to repeat it, patiently correcting his pronunciation though he was still laughing mercilessly at Simon’s attempts to roll the ‘r’. While Simon had to suppress the urge to hit him with the book in retaliation, hearing Raphael laugh was so rare that he felt generous enough to let it slide, hiding a smile behind an offended frown when the older vampire tried to coax him back to trying with assurances that he was definitely getting better.

Secretly, Simon thought Raphael was better at teaching Spanish than he was at teaching sense control. At least under the other’s guidance he didn’t completely massacre the whole Spanish alphabet in his attempts to find the right pronunciation.

It was also more fun, even if most of it was at his expense. Still, the depressive thoughts from a few hours ago were forgotten instantly when Simon met Raphael’s eyes and all he saw was genuine serenity. Simon knew this was bad. That he was bound to crash and burn. But he also realized that he didn’t care. That he really was just that hopeless.

What an idiot he had been, to miss how happy being with Raphael made him. How much his presence calmed him down, not only made him feel secure and at home but also filled him with more confidence, like he could take on the world.

“You put too much pressure on yourself,” Raphael said at the end of the text, watching Simon still struggle with the rolling ‘r’. “As long as you remember the rules, even if it’s not perfect, you’ll be understood.”

Simon squinted at the other in doubt. Raphael was usually the one who went for perfection in everything he did. Telling Simon to stop worrying about minor details almost felt like he was giving up on him. “You think I’ll never get it, don’t you?”

“You will, but not if you worry so much you freeze mid-word.”

Shoulders sagging, Simon leaned back against the wall behind them. “I guess I’m not made for this,” he mocked only with a hint of frustration. When Raphael was sacrificing his time, Simon at least wanted to make it worth his while but like this it looked more like he was wasting it.

“Say ‘da’.”

Simon glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, lifting both eyebrows.

“Come on,” Raphael prompted again. “Say ‘da’.”

“Da.”

“Repeat it and get faster.”

For a brief moment Simon entertained the thought that Raphael was using him for a strange joke, but then decided to give it a shot anyway. Repeating the syllable over and over again while gradually building speed, he waited for a sign to stop. When Raphael’s lips stretched into a grin the second Simon’s tongue moved too fast to produce the d sound and accidentally stumbled into an r, he understood what he had been aiming for. “Holy crap,” Simon almost squealed in excitement. “That was it, wasn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“Really? Da?”

Raphael nodded, accompanied by a shrug. “You need to get used to making the sound. Use fast d’s for r’s and you should get the hang of it.”

“Like ahoda? Quiedo?”

“Yeah, just like that.”

“I think that’s the most progress I’ve made since I’ve started,” Simon assessed, still slightly amazed at how simple the solution to the problem was.

“When did you start?”

“I had Spanish in 7th grade, but I didn’t really learn anything. I picked it up again,” Simon stopped briefly to remembered exactly how long it was by now, “five or six weeks ago.”

“Only?” Raphael asked in surprise. “Your vocabulary is pretty good for that.”

“Yeah, when I can see the words,” Simon deflected the compliment. “The second you start talking, I’m lost.”

“Because I talk fast and use Mexican slang not standard Spanish,” Raphael replied. “Mutually intelligible, but different. I think your comprehension of standard Spanish is pretty good, apart from the vocalization.”

“Thanks, that’s…” Simon paused to avoid saying something foolish due to the sudden surge of affection manipulating his mushy brain at the praise, “very nice.”

“Yeah, I’m always nice.”

Simon barked out a laugh at the audacity of that statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m always nice to people I like?” Raphael tried again, expression innocent as an angels. Those words were as much of an outrageous lie as the first ones. Simon knew from witnessing his interactions with Magnus and Elliott and if that was Raphael being nice to friends, he didn’t want to know how he treated enemies. Trying to muffle his laughter, Simon shoved the book into his face, but the quivering of his shoulders giving it away anyway. “I feel offended by your reaction.”

“Sorry,” Simon apologized, not one bit sorry. Lowering the book again, he caught Raphael tilting his head to the side in question, his eyes trailing over Simon’s face, as if he was looking for something.

Raphael wasn’t fond of over-expressing himself unless he wanted to be all dramatic. Not the same way Simon’s face was an explosion of feelings in every situation, an open book to everyone who bothered to look at him. At that moment, though, Raphael looked like he was arguing with himself, expressions switching quickly until he finally settled on a frown. “Are you… better? Now?”

“Pardon?”

“You’ve been acting weird,” Raphael explained, sounding oddly defensive. “Well, in your case, _w_ _eirder_.”

There was no word in the universe to describe how dumb Simon was.

Raphael didn’t accidentally stumble upon Simon mispronouncing a few words in his mother language. Words that he couldn’t have heard unless he had already been close, because no matter how freaking good his hearing was, it really couldn’t be that good.

Instead, Raphael must have looked for him after Simon had fled the office, not just noticing and ignoring Simon’s weird behavior, but _worrying_ about it. Insomuch that he actually deemed it important to check up on him.

That’s why he was there at nine in the morning.

 _I love you,_ Simon thought with new vigor, _I love you, and I’m sorry. Please don’t ever find out._ Seriously, how had it taken him so long to realize it, when his feelings were continuously slapping him in the face now?

Swallowing the words on the tip of his tongue, he replied, “I’m fine. I’m just…” He wanted to say that he was nervous because of the meeting with Lazar. It wasn’t even a lie. When Raphael had casually mentioned that Simon was coming along for the trip his first instinct had been to find and hide in his own grave until the meeting was over.

But they already had that conversation when Simon was accusing Raphael of self-sabotaging tendencies and Raphael rebuked those words by reminding him that Lazar had been there that night and already knew what Simon was like. And then continued by letting Simon knew that even if he was going to make a fool of himself again, Raphael would be at his side to help him out anyway.

That was the moment Simon would’ve agreed to anything because yes, he was that easy.

Another reason keeping those words from spilling over his lips was that Simon didn’t want to taint this memory with a bad aftertaste by lying when Raphael was obviously worried about him. So Simon opted for as much honesty as possible. “Actually,” he cleared his throat avoiding Raphael’s eyes, “I wasn’t fine. I was angry at myself, thinking about something. So I wanted to distract myself.”

“About what?”

He bit his lip, wondering how far he could go without revealing too much. “How not getting what you want doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“Is this about Clary?” Raphael asked with a refreshing bluntness, something dark swinging in his voice that Simon couldn’t decipher.

“Sort of, yeah,” he replied, ducking his head as if to hide from the questioning gaze he felt at the back of his head. “I mean… I can finally appreciate what we have. Instead of getting eaten by jealousy and possessive thoughts. I think it put a strain on our relationship. Something I never acknowledged.”

“Have you ever told her how you felt?”

“She knew.”

“But have you told her?” At that, Simon raised his eyebrows in question. “There’s a difference between knowing someone likes you, and knowing if they’re interested in pursuing a relationship.”

“If I like her? Of course,” Simon replied, confused. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Raphael scoffed, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “It’s not. Something might hold you back.”

“Such as?”

“Differences in what a relationship entails,” Raphael answered without hesitation. “Different prospects for the future. What you want from your life. Different social values. Liking someone isn’t always enough. If it’s someone important to you, wouldn’t you consider this carefully before making a decision?”

Simon looked at Raphael, trying to gauge his expression. Raphael had probably seen a lot in his life, seen many relationships fall apart and come together. From the way he spoke, though, contrary to what Simon had believed from what Lily had said, he was now inclined to think it wasn’t solely by standing on the sidelines. Or maybe it was just what the part of him that hadn’t given up yet was hoping. “Have you ever been in love?” Simon asked, somewhat shocked at his own brazenness.

Raphael heaved a sigh before throwing his head in his neck to stare at the ceiling. “Lily told you, didn’t she?”

Simon didn’t even pretend like he didn’t know what was being asked, just gave a sharp nod in reply. Truthfully, Simon didn’t know what to expect from an answer, didn’t even know how comfortable Raphael was talking about his sexual or romantic orientation in general, let alone with Simon. The ensuing pause felt like the longest in his life, tension in his body growing stronger with every passing second. As if his future was depending on the answer, when honestly, no matter what it was going to be, it wouldn’t make a difference.

“I wonder sometimes,” Raphael finally answered. “Whether I'm confusing friendship and love. Whether there’s a difference between them, or if they are interchangeable to me.” He lowered his head, eyebrows knitted into a deep frown. “Even as a human, I didn’t get what everyone was talking about. My mother used to tell me I was a late bloomer, that I’d get it eventually.” He shrugged dismissively, expression relaxing slightly. “I never did. So I thought I was missing something that every one else had.” A sardonic grin replaced his frown, as he tilted his head to look at Simon again. “I used to think the reason I easily adapted to being a vampire, was because I was broken as a human to begin with.”

The protective instinct in Simon snarling angrily at those words, while unexpected in its intensity, barely came as a surprise. That Raphael – proud, confident, capable Raphael – had this vulnerable side to him and decided to openly show it now seemed to push every button in Simon’s primal brain. All he wanted to do was hug him, wrap him in a blanket, hide him away from the world and tell him how fucking perfect he was.

“Even on the off-chance that there might be something more, I didn’t feel like looking into it. It was all the same to me, anyway. So why bother going that one step further, when it’d only lead to trouble? After all, who’d want a relationship lacking what most people consider crucial or essential to it anyway?”

Simon almost choked on his tongue when he realized what Raphael was referring to. Obviously a glutton for pain, he couldn’t deny that he had wondered in quiet hours with too much time on his hands about it, about how little intimacy he’d still be alright with, would make him and their relationship feel validated. Until he realized that he was far too inexperienced to find an answer. In his naivety, all he knew was that he _believed_ he wouldn’t mind giving up sex as long as he got Raphael’s love in exchange.

“You’re not broken,” he grumbled emphatically, because nobody was allowed to call Raphael that, not even Raphael himself. “And there are people who’d enter a relationship without… intimacy.” Simon stumbled a little over the last word, facing away at his own awkwardness, because okay, so he was talking about this. Great. He was absolutely the best person to talk about this. Not.

“Would you?”

It felt like someone tipped a bucket of cold water over his head. Simon was pretty sure he suffered from brain freeze as his whole body tensed and clamped up. It was a hypothetical question, for God’s sake. Raphael didn’t fucking mean anything by it, he told himself to calm his nerves down. “I think…” he started, wetting his lips. “That is…” With a deep breath, he stared at his hands. “I guess it’d depend… I mean, if I like that person, I’d be willing to try. But… but I think I’d need _something_.” Scratching the back of his head, he tired to hide his own insecurity at that less than satisfactory answer.

“Something what?”

Simon wiped a hand over his face, turning the other way because in his head while in the shower he had _done_ things to Raphael, had entertained enough dirty thoughts that he knew what he physically wanted but also knew would never happen, not just because Raphael wasn’t interested in him, but probably in sex in general. Now, talking about it, narrowing it down to the absolute bare minimum and pretending he wasn’t picturing Raphael doing any of that was harder than he thought.

“I don’t know,” he forced out, “I think I’d still need contact? Touching, hugging, cuddling. Maybe kissing?”

“I see,” Raphael said, sounding like he was lost in contemplation.

When Simon chanced a glance at him, the other vampire was staring at the piano without really looking at it. “I mean,” Simon continued awkwardly. “I don’t have much experience in romantic relationships. And with ‘not much’ I actually mean none. So I’m probably not the best person to talk to about this. Everyone else would be better than me.”

Raphael whipped his head around at that, look of surprsie on his face.

“Never had the luxury of having my feelings returned,” he explained unprompted just to say something, unable to deal with Raphael's reaction. “And I didn’t want to date just anybody. I know, I know. I get the joke. Playing hard to get while also being hard to want. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”

“Never?” Raphael asked, puzzled.

“Never,” Simon repeated, ignoring how much this was eating at his last resources of confidence.

“Maybe you had, but didn’t notice.”

“I know I can be oblivious, but even I’d realize if the person I like was interested in me.” _‘I think,’_ he added in his mind, faltering in confidence when he recalled all the times he had thought that _this was it,_ finally Clary had notice she was in love with him as well, just to get rewarded with a punch in his gut as soon as she tagged on the words ‘best friend’ to every profession of love leaving her mouth.

Raphael eyed him with a teasing smile. “Would you now?”

Simon lifted his chin in challenge, using every ounce of self-control to avoid shifting uncomfortably under the intensity of the other’s scrutiny. He didn’t even know why he felt this defensive in the first place. Maybe because Raphael was unintentionally poking at his insecurity. Maybe because Simon wasn’t ready yet to think about someone that wasn’t Raphael in his future.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Raphael suddenly stated without explaining further. Instead, he stood up with one fluent movement, throwing a look back at Simon. “Work on your ‘da’s and keep Wednesday evening open.”

“What?” Simon asked intelligently, feeling like he was suddenly missing a chunk of conversation. “For Spanish?”

“No, for suits.”

With that Raphael walked out of the room with oddly absentminded purpose, leaving Simon to wonder what just happened.


	15. I Will Not Be Drowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon runs into someone from his past, a lot. Shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be studying, but I was itching to finish this chapter. I feel like I can't apologize enough for this. Don't hate me.
> 
> Thank you all very, very much for the support. I know they move at a crawling pace. U_U
> 
> And thanks again to FanaticShipper07, for making this more readable! 
> 
> Title: Thoughtless - Korn

Kirk Duplesse was a bully.

Unfortunately, he was one Simon had been forced to spend most of his school life with, starting from elementary school. While the pranks Kirk used to play on Simon had been harmless at the beginning, they grew harsher with every passing year until they escalated during high school. It wasn’t just demanding homework. It was the full on cliched jock bully treatment of being painfully thrown against lockers, pushed around during sports, and so on.

Simon had endured high school thanks to Clary by his side, had counted the days until he was finally free from Kirk and his buddies. After high school, Simon had spotted Kirk once or twice in bars or other locations but had always been quick to hide so he wouldn’t be caught.

After being turned into a vampire, it was generally unusual to meet people from his Mundane life. Mostly because he stayed indoors during the day and when he was outside at night he couldn’t be bothered to party in clubs, which was most likely the place he’d find people around his age. When he did leave the hotel it was either to visit friends and family or to find new locations open 24/7, where he could enjoy some quiet time away from vampire family drama.

For some reason, he had become the mediator for situations like who had stolen whose mug or didn’t clean after themselves in the common room. It was all very domestic and somewhat grade school level and while Simon didn’t mind playing judge he also didn’t mind having some time to himself.

As humored and somewhat annoyed as he had been by the phrase ‘You don’t have to like them all, but they are family’, living together with the other vampires, arguing and sometimes downright yelling at each other, had sort of shifted his perception into the same direction. There were a few vampires grating on his nerves, but he’d damn well protect all of them.

But as uncommon as it was to meet old friends, for some reason Kirk Duplesse and Simon Lewis had a string of fate attached to each other that seemed to pull them together in the most annoying and unlikely ways at the most inopportune times.

Simon would like to say that he hated Kirk solely for that, however after living the life of a Downworlder he finally understood what hate really meant and therefore wasn’t bound to use the word lightly anymore.

So no, Simon didn’t hate Kirk. But he got annoyed whenever he spotted him in the crowd or picked up the scent of his sweat mixed with body spray. Now a vampire, Simon was still haunted by the unpleasant memories, still choosing to vanish before being seen. It worked rather well, the few times they happened upon each other.

Yet, around September or October, running into Kirk had taken on more personal forms, some quite literally.

The first time it happened had been at a video store.

Simon had caught the familiar scent a second too late, distracted by reading a cover of a movie, while listening to a couple aggressively bickering across the street, when Kirk approached him with a drawled _‘Lewis’._

Whipping around on his heels, Simon instantly distanced himself until his back hit the movie rack behind him, staring at the other man with wide eyes. He cursed under his breath at his own show of weakness, considering he was now a fucking vampire that could kill a human in the blink of an eye. His body’s memory still decided to hunch and make himself small, like he used to in school.

“Hi, Kirk,” he forced out, voice just that tiny bit too squeaky.

Before Kirk had a chance to react, Lily emerged from one of the rows, eyes glued to three DVDs in her hands as she started to speak. “So, I picked the worst rom-cons I could find just to annoy Raphael. He’ll absolutely hate them. Can’t wait to see him suffer through ‘When in Rome’. You both shouldn’t’ve–” She stopped mid-sentence as she finally spotted the two men mere inches away from each other.

Simon was immediately torn between amused affection for her choices in movies – honestly, her purposefully picking flicks to annoy Raphael made Simon love and fear her more at the same time – and instant regret that she was witnessing him shrinking away from a bully like Kirk.

Bemused, Lily cocked her head to the side but didn’t falter in her steps until she reached Simon, throwing one arm over his shoulder while looking Kirk up and down. “Baby,” she said with a slight hiss, lifting her chin. “Friend of yours?”

Kirk placed a winning smile on his lips. As much as Simon disliked to admit it, he _was_ attractive. And an asshole. At least with Lily, he wasn’t buying any brownie points for a wink and a smile. “Kind of,” Kirk replied, leering unabashedly at the woman. “Old classmate.”

She turned to look at Simon, waiting for confirmation.

“Yeah, old classmate,” he replied after a beat. A classmate that had made his school life hell, which he would never tell her, because Lily in overprotective mode was a horrible thing.

“Nice to meet you,” she said without inflection, pressing closer to Simon as she turned them both around in the direction of the cashier, not even waiting for a reply. Throwing a worried glance over his shoulder, Simon caught the other man glowering at their backs with an expression of something he almost categorized as disgust.

Over the next couple weeks, Simon would meet Kirk all over Manhattan. Even with a red thread of hell connecting them, these encounters were getting ridiculous. Simon usually just continued to steer clear of Kirk whenever he was fortunate enough to notice him first.

The next time Kirk accustomed him had been a month later. Simon had been out shopping with Izzy. Surrounded by heaps of bags with printed-on brand names, he enjoyed a moment of peace, away from Izzy asking for his opinion on a dress she was going to buy anyway. Honestly, he was aware that he was only along to carry Izzy’s stuff and flatter her ego by fawning over how pretty or sexy she looked, not because he had such a superior taste in fashion. He knew it. Izzy knew it. There were worse fates, he assumed.

“Nice meeting you again, Lewis,” Kirk greeted, smirking down at him.

Simon rolled his eyes, feeling less cornered and therefore a little braver even if he was still fighting his internal flight instinct. “Kirk,” he greeted back with forced non-nonchalance, not looking up from his mobile game.

Vampire!

He was a freaking vampire!

He could snap Kirk’s neck in the blink of an eye.

“You here with your girlfriend?” Kirk looked around in search, then pointedly stared at the bags to Simon’s feet. “Or shopping for yourself?”

“All mine,” Izzy replied in Simon’s stead with a clipped tone, appearing behind Kirk. Not hesitating even one second, she threw herself on Simon’s lap with a seductive grin on her bright red painted lips. While Izzy had always been rather touchy, she usually didn’t get _that_ touchy with Simon. Now her voice was almost a purr in his ear and Simon didn’t know what to do with his hands, almost held them up like someone was keeping him at gun point. “Baby,” she said with a pout, wrapping one arm around his neck, completely ignoring Kirk. “Who’s that?”

Simon hid a groan behind one of his hands. Izzy, same as other outsiders of the clan, had adopted the nickname over time, thinking it hilarious. Simon wasn’t even spooked anymore when he bumped into random Downworlders, who knew him through Bernice or Luke and greeted him with ' _Baby'_. Simon was sure that at least Bernice’s acquaintances assumed it was a code name. When even Jace had only laughed the first time he heard it and then called him by that name as well, Simon knew he was doomed for the end of time and simply accepted his fate. It was still used more as teasing, not to address him so directly.

Kirk’s eyebrows shot up at Izzy’s overly affectionate demeanor.

“Kirk, former classmate,” Simon replied, wondering what his life had become, as Izzy continued to bat her lashes at him as if he was the best thing on earth.

A few weeks later when Simon was at a comic bookstore with Maia, they met again. Simon had bumped into Kirk by accident as he was leaving the shop at the same time Kirk had wanted to enter. Maia, stabilizing Simon with a hand on his upper arm, laughed before chiding him with a ‘Careful, baby.’

It had happened when he was waiting with Jace at a coffee shop for Clary to finish patching up her make-up. A women weaving her way through the tables had accidentally knocked her hand bag against Simon’s head. Whatever that women was carrying in there – Simon presumed bricks from the bang he received – left him seeing stars for a few seconds. Jace, charming as always, laughed at his pain, before reaching across the table and patting his head in mock affection, cooing as he said ‘Want me to blow on it, baby?’

Simon almost snarled a less than flattering reply when he got his bearings back, but then spotted Kirk outside the shop, staring at them.

Luckily, it didn’t happen when Simon had been walking around with Magnus, because Magnus wouldn’t be caught dead calling him ‘baby’. However, the warlock was a very tactile and affectionate person, clinging to him like a petulant child while throwing around darling and dear and sweetheart.

They had been on their way to one of Magnus’ friends to cash in one of the favors Simon owned for the ointment. Something about fresh vampire blood for a spell. Why they hadn’t used a portal in the first place – _because,_ _Seamus_ _,_ _taking a walk is_ nice _now and then_ – was beyond him. If it weren’t for Kirk storming out of one of the apartment blocks, ranting and swearing at someone on the phone, he wouldn’t have minded anyway.

Kirk looked up and their eyes met the second Simon noticed him. With a growl, Kirk lowered his head immediately after a disgusted glare at Magnus, purposely bumping into Simon.

Simon rubbed the spot on his shoulder absentmindedly, following Kirk with his eyes for a moment, before frowning at Magnus. “Say, how often can you accidentally run into a person before you think destiny is trying to tell you something?”

Magnus had looked at him with a funny expression, but didn’t reply.

As brief and as uneventful as these encounters were, Simon usually kept forgetting about them mere minutes later. Kirk had made his life hell for the majority of it, Simon refused to be subjected to more of this bullshit. Simon had enough problems, actual important problems to deal with and Kirk Duplesse wasn’t one of them.

Now, coming face to face with him again, entering the shop Raphael was dragging him to on Wednesday, Simon wished he had made it one of his problems. Because then he might have figured out why they had been constantly running into each other ever since the sun settled early, leaving him able to run around during late opening hours.

Raphael was apparently of the opinion that Simon didn’t need a new suit but a whole new wardrobe. Honestly, he didn’t know what had triggered the shopping spree: the talk they had in the music room or the meeting with Lazar. Whatever it was, Raphael decided to take him straight to his preferred tailor. 

Where that asshole Kirk Duplesse apparently was _working at_. Right in their clan territory.

Simon had been to the store once or twice when he had been out for errands, to pick something up for Raphael, like the good secretary that he was, but he had never seen Kirk there. Couldn’t even remember picking up his scent, which might have to do with the fact that the patrons of this particular shop felt like they needed to bath in aftershave.

No wonder they were frequenting the same spots. Kirk was probably _living_ in the area as well. The only reason Simon hadn’t met him before was because he had been staying inside. During summer, it was almost impossible to leave the hotel most of the time. As soon as the nights grew longer and the days shorter and Simon was running around at all odd hours after 6pm of fucking course they’d run into each other sooner or later.

Luckily, Kirk took only one look at him, then at Raphael, before he greeted them politely and disappeared into the back of the store. If he was working there, he probably had to keep his professional cool.

Thank God for small mercies.

Raphael, who either hadn’t noticed the quick exchange between Kirk or Simon or had decided to ignore it, was already busy looking at the suits on display, measuring them with a critical eye. Before Simon had the chance to get over the shock of meeting the bane of his prior Mundane existence, Raphael was already handing him a suit jacket. “We have an hour,” he said, steering Simon to one of the changing cubicles.

Apparently, they were on a schedule, Simon thought amused, as he closed the curtain behind himself.

The texture and fabric of the jacket was of the same high quality wool that Raphael usually wore, but in a shade of color he hadn’t seen yet. It was a little intimidating that Simon was so familiar with the contents of Raphael’s wardrobe. Curious, he searched for the price tag, then let out a yelp of surprise at the number.

“Raphael,” he wailed, pushing the curtain out of the way. “There’s no freaking way I can afford that.”

Raphael, who stood merely a few feet away, going through other clothing, didn’t even turn as he spoke up. “I’ll pay for it.”

Flabbergasted, Simon chanced a glance around the shop to get a quick overview of who was around, hoping that everyone in the vicinity would be too distracted to notice their exchange. “I can’t let you do that,” he hissed lowly, knowing Raphael heard him, anyway.

“Want me to pay with clan money?”

“What? No!”

Heaving a sigh in annoyance, Raphael let off the suits in order to approach him. “Why not? It’s for work.”

“This is too expensive even for work.”

“If you’d accept the money everyone agreed to give you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Raphael stopped in front of him, giving him a once-over as if measuring something in his head.

“It was too much! Don’t you guys have any sense of monetary value?”

A common joke among accounts was to never underpay the person handling your money, but seriously, they were going overboard. Simon knew what the other vampires brought in and he knew how much was in their collective account and yes, they could easily support that, but he was a friend of reserve assets, alright?

While it was common to give spending money to everyone who took care of proceedings all around the clan and didn’t even have time to do anything else, like Raphael, Lily and Arya, they usually just talked to Jacob if they wanted something. Jacob would clear it with Simon and Simon wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at the numbers that came up every now and then.

Still, during one of their bi-monthly meetings when someone brought up the topic of Simon’s compensation for his work – the fact that they were talking about it was already bad enough – about a week after he had returned home from his Hanukkah vacation, it got overboard.

The amount of money had already started at a monthly five digit number and slowly increased as they continued to list his duties, while Simon tried to crawl under a couch and hide. As it seemed, his prolonged absence from the clan made them realize the everyday tiny tasks Simon had taken upon himself. It wasn’t even worth mentioning, so he’d been fighting them all the way, while Raphael just passively watched the back and forth with too much mirth reflected in his eyes. They finally accepted the common salary for an accounting job, after looking it up on the phone first, with a reluctance that led him to believe that they were going to try and find away around it. Instead, the clan members just insisted that Simon could buy whatever he needed from clan money.

“I hope you know that you offended them by turning the money down.”

“I… As I said, it was too much.”

“It’s what they thought was appropriate for your work.”

“Most of it isn’t even work,” Simon huffed, annoyed. “It’s taking care of family.”

Something he said must have triggered Raphael, because he was suddenly pushing Simon back into the changing cubicle until he hit the wall. “Baby,” he murmured lowly, meeting Simon’s surprised expression with a intense glare as he leaned in, their faces mere inches apart. “Shut up. And put on the damn suit.” With that, Raphael stepped out and drew the curtains closed, leaving Simon to deal with a completely different problem now.

Gulping for no reason, Simon willed himself to calm down and forget how hot Raphael had sounded, voice somewhat darker and deeper. Pressing the heels of his hands on his face, he took several deep breaths, before doing as he had been told without another complaint. Something told him that he really wouldn’t win this fight if he decided to continue it anyway. If Raphael wanted to spend this kind of money on him, fine then. It didn’t make him feel appreciated at all. 

But it did. 

God, Raphael was killing him. 

After trying on the third or fourth suit, Simon didn’t feel like it was that much of a hardship anymore. The look of concentration on Raphael’s face, assessing eyes trailing over every part of his body, even left him a little weak in the knees. It was somewhat intoxicating. Simon loved the undivided attention, the way Raphael nodded in approval or even clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.

Simon caught himself trying to show off, whenever he realized that something fitted him well, giving a twirl that made Raphael roll his eyes in exasperation, but still always with a tiny smile.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Especially not when he came out in a dark brown suit and knew immediately from Raphael’s reaction that they hit jackpot. Raphael’s eyes rested on his arms and chest a moment until his gaze flicked back to Simon’s face, wordlessly lifting one hand to beckon him closer.

Simon followed. As soon as he stopped in front of the other vampire, Raphael’s hands were pulling the fabric at his shoulders, wandering down towards waist and hips. Simon couldn’t help but marvel at how close they were. But this seriously wasn’t the best time for delusions, he scolded himself, trying to ignore his brain cheering him on. Wasn’t self-preservation supposed to prevent him from making stupid mistakes?

Turning away to find something else to fixate on, Simon almost immediately spotted Kirk at the cash register, scowling at them, before quickly averting his gaze.

“Earth colors look good on you,” Raphael said, voice quiet.

“Thanks, uh… you look good in crimson.”

Raphael laughed, the smile staying on his lips as he quickly glanced up and then returned to whatever he was doing. Simon wanted to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, as a choir in his head sang praises over Raphael’s cuteness.

Fuck his brain.

“Still don’t understand why I need all this. I was fine wearing your suits.”

Raphael scoffed. “Precioso, you haven’t been wearing my clothes for weeks now. Quarter of my closet consists of jackets and pants I bought for you guessing your size from what you’ve been wearing from me,” he disclosed casually, finally taking a step back, appearing very pleased with the suit.

“What?” Simon asked, baffled.

“Do you really think I have that many jackets for you just lying around? You _do_ realize that we have different sizes? Use your head, baby.”

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. He still remembered the first time Raphael had been going through his wardrobe to find something fitting Simon for Alec’s wedding. It had taken a few tries until they had found something that wasn’t tailored to perfection to Raphael himself _and_ wasn’t too loose around the chest or too tight around the waist.

Simon had never really questioned why they were that much quicker now to find something every time he stopped at Raphael’s door in a panic before an official outing, declaring in an over-dramatic fashion that he didn’t have anything to wear.

Simon wanted to hit his head.

“Manuel is ready for you now, Mister Santiago,” one of the shop assistants interrupted his daze, giving them a pleasant smile as she glanced at what Simon was wearing, followed by an appreciative once-over. From her expression, he almost expected a thumbs-up next.

Bernadette, as her name tag stated, appeared friendly and best of all, she wasn’t Kirk and therefore didn’t seem to have any ill-intentions. Though Simon had a feeling that something was definitely off with her.

“Keep it on,” Raphael told him. “We’ll get a few adjustment but take this one. And,” he glanced around for whatever else he had set aside.

“No,” Simon protested as he spotted the hangars Raphael was approaching. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes,” Raphael replied.

“Two. Three max,” he began to negotiate, because they were _not_ going to spend more than he made in two months in this place.

Raphael blinked at him with the equivalent of puppy dog eyes. Using that angel face against Simon was simply unfair! He could probably melt the ice-cold heart of an iceberg with that faked innocence if he wanted. Worst now, Simon was aware of his love for that manipulative bastard, so that made it ten times more effective. He never stood a chance. “F… four. My last offer.” He tried for firm but knew he was failing so hard, when Bernadette feigned a cough to hide a laugh at the exchange and excused herself to the back room.

“Five?” Raphael suggested, eyes growing that bit wider.

Simon wanted to slap him. “Fine. Five. You’re an asshole.”

“Maybe six?”

“Don’t push it!”

The diabolic smirk and low chuckle Simon received in reply stood in stark contrast to the prior expression. At least Raphael didn’t rub it in too hard, just quickly picked his four other favorite items and ushered Simon in the direction of the back room, where he not only spotted Kirk but also a man looking about 200 years old, who was engaging Raphael into small talk the second they walked in.

Manuel wasn’t 200 years old, as Simon found out, but he was _old_. Almost 80 and still working the same job ever since he started at 13. Hands steadily working in pins, as Simon stood on a stool, Manuel discussed the changes Raphael wanted in tailor code, sometimes advising against something or offering an alternative. Manuel was probably the only person in this world who could persuade Raphael of a different opinion. Simon was amazed and wanted to have the same super power.

He must have said that out loud, because Bernadette and Manuel laughed kindheartedly while Raphael glowered at him. Simon ducked his head, receiving a slap on his lower back from Manuel in response. Simon got the hint and straightened his back again, looking innocently in any direction that wasn’t Raphael.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for custom made,” the old man said, as he eyed the sleeve of Simon’s jacket.

“I need it ready for a meeting next week,” Raphael answered without missing a beat. “Wouldn’t want to put you on the spot like that.” A wicked grin followed the words, and Manuel let out a raspy laugh.

“Oh, so you want to impress Lazar,” Simon said. So it was the meeting with Lazar that had brought this on.

“No, _you_ want to impress him,” Raphael said, half sitting on a cupboard, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Don’t even think for one second that this meeting is about me. Lazar’s known me for years, he knows what I’m like.” He lifted his eyes, catching Simon’s as he quirked his lips. “He wants to meet you.”

Well, crap.

 _Now_ Simon was seriously nervous. “Me?” he almost shrieked, glancing quickly over to Kirk, who was busy jotting down everything Manuel directed at him and appeared to ignore everything else. Simon knew he didn’t. “Why me? I’m just your secretary!”

“Advisor,” Raphael corrected as if out of habit. “And maybe because you threw… wine all over his ex-wife’s dress.”

Kirk snorted behind his pad.

Meeting Lazar while vanishing into the background of Raphael’s glorious self was nerve wrecking enough. Now it appeared like he actually had to interact for a prolonged time with the other clan leader and while Simon had managed to exchange a few words with him without making a fool of himself, he didn’t think he was able to hold a whole conversation without offending the other man.

“This story will haunt me for the rest of my life, won’t it?” He groaned. “And you think this,” Simon gestured to the trousers and up his body to shirt and jacket, “will be better at covering up my clumsiness than what I’ve been getting from you?”

“Maybe not,” Raphael said, smirking. “But you’ll still look good in them, anyway.”

Kirk accidentally dropped his pad and barely managed to catch it mid air, while Simon was about to swoon off the stool. Internally, he was cursing and stuttering as the fan-choir in his head cheered. Fucking hell. He was such a mess.

“If you say so,” was all Simon replied, because anything longer would have resulted in cheesy love confessions or crazy ranting and it was bad enough that everyone in the room already knew what a train wreck he was from the short conversation alone.

Simon didn’t know how much time had passed after that, but he sighed in relief when Manuel finally let him off the stool after the last item and he could change back into his loose shirt and jeans. Manuel and Raphael were still in the back when Simon finished dressing, but Kirk was out front at the computer, Bernadette nowhere in sight.

He had a hunch, that the former jock was waiting for him, not letting go of the chance for any snide remarks. Simon straightened his back, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t be stopped on his way to the back room.

“Is he even legal?”

It was more confusion that made him pause as he turned to meet Kirk’s sneer. “What?”

“Sleeping around like a slut and lacking standards is one thing, but seriously, a kid?”

“I—what?” Simon repeated, before catching on. “Did you just insult my friends?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Kirk had probably been assuming from the encounters, so he wasn’t really surprised about the first part, but _no standards_?

Simon’s friends, yes, Jace included, were awesome. Everyone would be lucky to date any single one of them. He was about to say just that, when Raphael entered the room with a look that said he was two seconds away from smashing someone’s face in. The same look he had given Simon in the boat house when he had asked him why the fuck Aldertree thought the feeding dens were Raphael’s. Not a nice memory to flash back to.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Simon replied sourly after a moment, aware that Raphael had probably heard them. “Just catching up with a former classmate.”

“Yep,” Kirk affirmed, barely maintaining a professional smile, when Raphael glanced at him. “Also, I have a copy of the requested changes in writing for you, Mr. Santiago.” The words were so fake in it’s pleasantness that Simon wanted to gag.

Kirk held the letter out to Raphael, but Simon snapped it out of his hand, visibly irritated. “Thank you. Nice meeting you again,” he forced through clenched teeth. No, he was not going to make a scene here. Whatever the fuck Kirk’s problem was, Simon didn’t want any part of it.

He would throw a tantrum as soon as he was in his room, though.

On the way back to the hotel, Raphael was conspicuously quiet. Simon was still fuming internally, so he didn’t mind for the first couple minutes, but as his anger slowly dissipated, his anxiety grew in exchange at what Raphael had taken away from the conversation with Kirk. Simon thought about saying something a few times but in the end always decided against it.

However, as soon as the front door closed behind them and they stepped into the lobby of the Dumort, Raphael glanced at him curiously. “So you sleep around?”

The words dropped like a bomb inside the hotel.

Instantly, Simon felt the eyes and ears of every vampire at home on his back. Spinning around on his heels to address the one’s in the lobby openly showing their interest in the topic, he quickly tried to deny the accusation. “No, no, no, I’m not!” Turning back to Raphael, because Jesus, _priorities_ , he continued in a panic. “I swear, I’m not. I never even—I mean I have. Probably. I don’t remem—anyway, it’s a misunder—”

Simon was so lost in his tangled thoughts he _almost_ missed Raphael’s lips curling into a teasing smirk. When he noticed, though, he immediately stopped his rambling. “Oh, you bastard,” he cursed without any heat, still shoving Raphael’s shoulder for good measure as he pushed past him on the stairs to go and hide in his bedroom for a year or two. The vampires could probably tell if he was, not that they wouldn’t know because it wasn’t like he was spending that much time alone as it was. Where would he even find the time for hook-ups?

He was an idiot.

Raphael snorted a laugh, but followed him anyway. “What’s this about?”

“It’s… I don’t know,” Simon answered honestly. He really didn’t know why Kirk was so obsessed with annoying him. “Kirk’s just always been a dick,” he continued as they headed into his room, slamming the door shut behind Raphael to relieve some tension. It didn’t help. “I think it’s because of the nickname. We met a couple times, when I was out with friends, and they called me ‘baby’. I think everyone being all touchy with me whenever he showed up wasn’t helping, either. Was particularly funny when someone threw up on me and Cyn and Penelope were cooing, drunk off their asses, going on about ‘Baby needs a bath’ and ‘Get him clean before mommy gets angry’ while Kirk was standing _right there_. _Again!_ ” He rolled his eyes in exasperation at the memory. His clan was hilarious and annoying and he loved it, but sometimes he wanted them far away from him.

“I remember that day,” Raphael said, completely missing the point.

“‘course you do. I saw your face when we came in. You couldn’t wipe that disgust off for a week.”

“You reeked.”

“I showered a gazillion times!”

“And another of my jackets ruined.”

“It wasn’t even my fault!”

“We’re not having this discussion again.”

Simon suppressed the urge to stamp his foot like a ten year old not getting his candy. Yes, they had that conversation already and Simon had apologized and Raphael had added a line to his mental game of destroyed-jackets hang-man that probably had Simon really hanging when it reached its end.

“Anyway, I don’t know what his problem is,” he switched back. “I just want him to leave me alone. He’s been a thorn in my side for long enough, already.” With a last angry snarl, Simon let himself fall belly down onto his bed, hiding his face in his arms so he didn’t have to see the look of disappointment on Raphael’s face. He knew he was acting like a petulant child, but he was so fed up with Kirk Duplesse being in his life.

Raphael didn’t reply, but the mattress shifted to his left.

“I know it’s pathetic,” Simon mumbled into the comforter, unprompted.

“He was bullying you?” Raphael asked, voice closer than expected. Simon nodded his head as much as could in his current position, just going to assume that the other was able to pick up the wordless reply. “Had my share of those in my life, too.”

At that, Simon turned his head around. Raphael was lying on his back next to him, arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He must have noticed the movement out of the corner of his eyes, as he turned to look at Simon almost immediately, then rolled over onto his side. Using one hand to prop his head, he held the other up for Simon. “Older boy in the neighborhood,” Raphael started, sticking out his thumb, furrowing his brow as if he had to concentrate hard to remember everyone. “A few teachers. Predominately white school,” he added with a shrug at Simon’s questioning frown, three fingers joining the thumb. “Oh, owner of the grocery store I worked at. Of course, Camille, for the longest time.”

From everything Simon had learned about Camille, and something told him it wasn’t nearly all, she really was the worst kind of tyrant. It was made even more apparent by the fact that Raphael _really_ didn’t like talking about her. Simon understood. He didn’t like talking about Kirk either and he only had to suffer about ten years worth of humiliation, most of them more or less harmless even.

“What did you do?”

Raphael clicked his tongue, shifting his body slightly to get more comfortable before he huffed in annoyance. “Kept my head down, for the most part.” Simon must have shown his surprise, because Raphael quirked an eyebrow at him. “They say you have to fight back, right? I needed my job to help my mother, and one Latino kid against the white school board in the sixties? Yeah, no chance. Had to learn to pick my wars. Same with Camille.” Simon didn’t reply, just watched Raphael’s expression change from mild contempt to disgust. “Sounds cowardly, I know, but sometimes you can’t fight back.”

“What about that boy?”

“Him?” Raphael pressed his lips together, taking a moment to reply. “I was a skinny twelve year old. He was six years older and massive.” His eyes flickered to Simon, a cracked smile on his lips. “Couldn’t beat him with strength, so I ran my mouth. Made fun of his girl dumping him for his step-dad.” He paused for a moment. “Made it worse of course. Last time he confronted me, he made the mistake of insulting my mother and ignoring the baseball bat in my hand. I got him off my back, but his mother sent us the hospital bill, so I had to find work to pay it off. Can’t really say it was worth it.”

Simon could only imagine what he would have done. If Kirk had ever done anything to Clary or said something about his mother, he would have probably snapped as well sooner or later. Living in their nosy neighborhood, of course everyone had known about his mother’s alcohol addiction. It would have been an easy target for Kirk, but surprisingly, even though Simon was sure he knew, he had never touched that subject.

“Disappointed?” Raphael asked into the silence.

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head. “Sad. Angry. That you had to deal with that for so long.”

“Did you ever try to fight back?”

“Once.”

“How did that work out for you?”

Simon let out a short laugh. “Made it worse. Before, it was just small stuff, like taking my homework. I talked back. When Clary noticed, she stood up for me. Went downhill from there. He got physical.” He felt ashamed just thinking about it. In comparison to everything he had gone through the last year alone it was somewhat trite. “Sounds so trivial now.” He glanced at Raphael to gauge his reaction. “Wasn’t so bad, in retrospect. Was still afraid of going to school for a few months. I know, I shouldn’t be scared of him anymore. Vampire, right? First time I was face to face with him again, though, felt like I was back in school and he was about to dunk my head in the toilet. So dumb.”

“It’s not,” Raphael said, quietly, tracing Simon’s face with his eyes. “Just because your body changed, doesn’t make your feelings less relevant.”

It was absurd. Someone like Raphael, who projected unquestionable authority and bored nonchalance, who could be so hard and unyielding, whose method of choice for conflict resolution was sarcasm, showed him this soft, understanding, patient and gentle side. Something that would have never happened a year ago, when the most Simon could expect from him was a glance in passing.

Simon really wanted to hug him right now.

“What?” Raphael asked with a frown, when Simon’s lips curled into a fond smile.

“Why was I ever afraid of you?”

“I’m scary, that’s why.”

Simon laughed. “You’re as scary as a playful puppy.”

Raphael actually looked offended at the comparison, but then rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you were never afraid of me in the first place. First time we met, you kept talking my ear off all the way to the Dumort.”

“Coping mechanism,” Simon threw in.

“You wouldn’t stop talking even alone in your cell or when I got you out.”

“I was trying to negotiate with you.”

“You threw a knife at me.”

“I have my moments.”

“You were so annoying.”

“But I offered to pay for your jacket!”

Raphael smiled. “You never did.”

“You didn’t even give me your account details! You just walked out scoffing!”

“I’m surprised you even remember.”

“I remember most of it. It sort of gets fuzzy after you left.” Raphael’s face hardened. Simon could only guess why. “Probably better that way,” he continued, regretting bringing that even up, as he tried to push the flicker of memories to the back of his mind again. Just the thought of Camille close to him, her perfume and scent, the feeling of her lips and fangs on his neck, made him want to scream.

He had never felt such intense negative emotions before.

Simon hated her. Hated her with a passion. He wished upon her all the pain and trauma she had inflicted on the clan. He knew this feeling hadn’t been this strong when she killed him, but instead had been nurtured by every piece of information he had gotten over the months, for every glimpse he caught on what she had done to the people in his life that he cared about. For everything she had done to Lily and Raphael and Magnus.

“Simon,” Raphael called him out of his thoughts with a soft voice, his hand hesitantly brushing against his shoulder. Simon reached for it, ignoring the awkward angle in favor of the contact, still glad when Raphael shuffled slightly closer and their hands settled on the bed between them. “She’s gone.”

“For now,” he replied, sharper than intended. “But I’m not worried about myself,” he continued softer, as he tightened his grip. “It’s you. Lily and you.”

“You don’t have to worry about us.”

“I do. Because I know she’ll be back,” Simon whispered, trying to keep his voice down. His room was most likely not the best place to discuss this topic, considering that neither of their leaders were apparently intent on voicing that thought out loud. “You know it, too,” he continued anyway. “I’ve seen it. The way you looked at Lily when the Clave said your official nomination as clan leader was still pending. I knew it when our main supplier of blood canceled the contract. She’s planning and plotting and you act like nothing’s wrong, and I get why, but I know Lily and you worry about it. I’ve known for months.”

Raphael had his lips pressed into a thin line, but then gave an almost silent sigh. “You’re right,” he admitted. “It’s probably her.”

“What’s she trying to do?”

“The only thing she can for now. Trying to spread dissent. Such a petty way.”

“Will there be more?”

“Probably. And it will get worse.” Simon nodded in understanding. Raphael’s expression relaxed lightly as his thumb brushed over Simon’s knuckles. “That’s why new partners like Eira are important. Can’t trust the ones Camille used to handle.”

It explained why Raphael hadn’t been all that eager to keep conversations up with some of the ambassadors and looked more in favor of the people Simon introduced to him. The few he stumbled upon, as unimportant as they appeared in the grand scheme of Downworlder politics, at least had no attachment to Camille and were hopefully not influenced by any of her associates.

It didn’t explain why Raphael was so set on Lazar, though.

“What about Lazar?” Simon asked hesitantly. “Why’s he so important?”

“He’s a fail-safe.” Raphael looked away from Simon, instead watched their hands as he continued to speak. “In case Camille comes back and something happens to Lily and me.”

“Nothing will happen to you,” Simon insisted, angry at the thought of either or both of them gone. “I won’t let her lay a finger on you.”

“Ambitious,” Raphael chuckled.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious,” he affirmed, earnestly. “I’m not good yet, but I’m training. I want to be able to protect my friends. The clan. Lily. You.” Raphael’s eyes snapped back to Simon’s. “As much as it disgust me, she’s still my sire. Her blood’s mingled with mine. I read up on sire bonds, how they can use it to get in contact with their children.” Simon swallowed around a knot in his throat. He hated the fact that it was her, wished it was someone else, but at least he could use that to his advantage. “But as you tried to tell me a year ago, it also means that I can find her, too, if I had to.”

“I hope you’re not implying, that you’d die for us,” Raphael said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Camille is dangerous. Dealing with her usually leads to that outcome, in case you have forgotten.”

Simon opened his mouth, then stopped at the feeling of déjà vu. They had that conversation before, when Simon had tried to talk Raphael into letting Clary meet with Camille. His life was a circle. “I don’t intend to die,” he insisted. “And I know she’s dangerous. I’m not saying I’m going to hunt her down. But if it ever comes down to it, I want you to be able to rely on me. I want you to come to me for help.”

Raphael shook his hand free from their grip, pushed himself up with one arm and shifted forward so he almost hovered over Simon. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, either,” Simon replied stubbornly.

“If you want to take on Camille for me,” Raphael said, an unreadable expression on his face as he slowly, as if giving Simon enough time to react, reached out, his hand coming to rest on Simon’s cheek in a soft caress, thumb lightly tracing the cheek bone, as their eyes met. “Let me do something for you. I can deal with that kid for you.”

Simon’s eyes widened in surprise. “No way,” he almost shouted, agitated. “He’s totally beneath you. I don’t want you to waste even a single thought on that asshole. He isn’t worth your time.”

“He isn’t,” Raphael agreed, tips of his fingers tickling the short hair at the nape of Simon’s neck. “But you are.”

‘I was so afraid I would lose you,’ popped into Simon’s head in Clary’s sweet voice. ‘I couldn’t live without you. You’re all I have left.’ The words resonated in his mind as another part told him there was more, more than just friendship, that this might go somewhere, followed by sinking disappointment. ‘You’re my best friend.’

Almost choking on his feelings, Simon tried to push them down with fervor. He let out a shaky laugh, to hide his inner turmoil. “I mean it. Just ignore him,” he said, forcefully cheerful, as he moved his hand to gently push Raphael away, get some distance between them before he did something foolish like declare his undying love in form of a sonnet or something. “I overreacted. I can deal seeing him a couple times.”

Raphael appeared to pout at his reply. Simon pulled his legs beneath him, his nerves slowly calming down. It wasn’t like it _hurt_ to have Raphael this close, to have him worried and honest and playful and kind and tactile. Quite the opposite. Simon felt special, cherished. It just meant he had to ground his expectations a little more than usual.

“Wouldn’t even break a bone,” Raphael offered offhandedly. “Threaten him a little, maybe.”

“No,” Simon repeated, trying to keep his voice stern.

“Scare him?”

“No.”

“I can get Manuel to fire him.”

“Raphael, no.”

The older vampire clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. “Next time we’re there I’ll make him mess something up.”

“Now you’re being petty.”

“Your fault,” Raphael replied, poking a finger against his chest. Simon laughed as he playfully slapped it away, ignoring the kicked puppy look he received in reply. He said it before, he’d say it again: manipulative bastard.

At least the tense atmosphere from just a moment ago was gone. He didn’t even know how talking about Kirk had turned around to that kind of topic anyway.

Funny, how just a few months ago, Simon had wondered how to spend time with Raphael without boring him. Now it seemed that whatever they ended up doing or talking about, it was never one-sided.

Maybe, a voice in his head piped up. Just _m_ _aybe_ _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I have to apologize to book Kirk, but since I chose to go with Maureen from the series, might as well go with what has been said about Kirk there.


	16. Hold Your Breath, Take A Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has to deal with Lazar and some of his clan. It's super fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. You had to wait so long for an update and this is what you get. More (boring) _politics_. I'm trying to make up for that in the next chapters.  
> On a happier note, I'm done with exams and on a break for three weeks, so I can use my time for writing!
> 
> Title: One For The Team - Best Supporting Actor
> 
> Thanks to FanaticShipper07 for betaing!

Simon’s nerves were running high as he stood in Raphael’s walk-in closet, Raphael in front of him, tying Simon’s tie. He couldn’t count on one hand anymore how often this had happened in the past months. Often enough to be familiar. Often enough that Raphael, who at first couldn’t do it standing in front of someone and therefore had to do it from behind Simon, had eventually gotten the hang of it.

“You shouldn’t have told me,” Simon said, eyes focused on a spot above Raphael’s shoulder, suppressing the urge to anxiously bounce on his heels.

“Told you what?”

“That this is about me.”

Raphael sighed, barely keeping from rolling his eyes. “We talked about this.”

“What if I mess it up?”

“You won’t.”

“It’s important to you. I can’t ruin this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Raphael said, one hand cupping Simon’s chin and turning his face so their eyes would meet. “Nothing gained, nothing lost. Stop worrying.” He said it with such utter conviction that Simon almost believed him, but the word ‘fail-safe’ still echoed in his mind from their prior conversation. Of course Simon didn’t want anything to happen to Raphael and Lily, but a plan in case something _did_ happen was necessary. Lazar was incremental to that plan. Simon _had_ to get this right.

“Totally going to mess this up.”

“Por el amor de Dios,” Raphael groaned in. “Deja de hacer un drama de todo esto.” Simon blinked, trying to catch at least part of what Raphael said to reprimand him while the words picked up in speed, but all he got out where a few phrases like ‘ahora calla’ and ‘te lo dije’.

“I understood about half of what you said, just now,” Simon replied after a pause, as his mind worked hard to ignore how hot Raphael was, looking furiously at him through long eye lashes, husky voice lowly growling the words. Apparently when it came to the Latino, Simon must have kissed his last shred of self-preservation good bye sometime ago, otherwise he wouldn’t be so easily distracted by that pretty face.

At this Raphael did roll his eyes, but didn’t stop the smile forming on his lips as he pulled the narrow end of the tie through the neck opening. Whatever knot he was doing, it looked unnecessarily complicated. “I said, ‘por el amor de Dios’—”

“‘For the love of God’.”

The other vampire glanced at him fleetingly, not hiding his amusement. “Of course you’d know that.”

“In my defense, you say it a lot.”

Raphael huffed. “‘Deja de hacer un drama de todo estos’.”

“Probably something about me being all drama,” Simon guessed, noting that Raphael was finally done as he began to adjust the tightness of the tie.

“‘Stop making a big deal out of it’.”

“Nailed it.”

With a snort, Raphael finally took a step back to check his handy-work. “‘Te lo dije’—”

“‘I told you’.”

“‘Everything’s going to be fine’.”

“Ahora calla,” Simon repeated with a grin, “‘Now shut up’.”

“‘You’re making me nervous, too’.”

Simon scoffed, earning himself an unreadable expression. “As if you’d get nervous.” Honestly, he couldn’t picture their fearless clan leader ever getting anxious over anything. Projecting so much confidence and experience, it seemed unlikely that there was something he’d ever worry about. Then again, knowing Raphael, even if he did, he’d probably mask it.

“Not much,” Raphael admitted after a moment, shrugging. “There’s been something recently, though.”

Simon tilted his head to the side. “Really? Is it Lazar, too?”

“Sometimes,” Raphael continued, tugging harshly at the end of the tie, forcing Simon to lean forward to avoid the knot tightening more around his neck, “it infuriates me.”

Simon blinked owlishly before averting his eyes. “Not Lazar then.”

“But mostly,” letting go again with a sigh, Raphael’s whole body language switched back to casual indifference, “it’s soothing. Draining the anger.”

“What anger?”

“The anger that kept me going,” Raphael replied, attention drawn to the cuff of his sleeve as he straightened the fabric. “It pushed me forward. First time Camille dragged me to a meeting,” his forehead furrowed in concentration, before disgust settled into his expression at the memory he recalled, “I was too angry to care. Not a lot of space left for other emotions. However, I didn’t know how angry I was all the time until it began to fade.”

“I guess it’s good that you found it then,” Simon said, timid, even though he wanted to ask what it was that managed to influence someone like Raphael in such a complex manner.

Raphael didn’t react to his words, instead switching the topic. “How did you manage the other parties?”

“There’s nothing at stake there,” Simon replied, quickly picking up. “I know you hate them as much as I do, and I’m pretty much invisible there. This is face to face. A lot of attention”

“What about performing? You’re the center of attention there, too.”

“That’s different.” Spinning around to get a look at himself in the mirror. He looked unrealistically handsome in it, though it was mostly testament to Raphael’s fashion sense. “I’m in my element there. I know roughly what to expect. I mean, I still get nervous but it’s… the good kind. I’m comfortable in my skin and I love music. When I’m playing, that’s all I think about.”

Raphael hummed, taking a step forward to stand at his side, meeting Simon’s eyes in the mirror. “What would make you comfortable in this situation?”

Simon shrugged.

He knew what he wanted, but he didn’t know how to convey it without sounding like an ungrateful brat especially not after Raphael had spent a lot of money on the suit he was wearing. With a sigh, he let his shoulders hang as he decided to at least try. “You said he wants to meet me.” Raphael nodded. “Well, this isn’t me.” Subtlety really wasn’t his strong suit, but Raphael looked more confused than affronted at his words. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, quickly. “I like what I’m wearing. And it builds my confidence but it’s not… It’s really difficult to sell. I am. Me with this.”

The Latino pursed his lips. “You want to wear something else?”

“No! I mean, yes. Maybe, but no, not really.”

“Can we try that again?”

“Oh God,” he mumbled, throwing his head back to look for inspiration at the ceiling. As much as the suits boosted his confidence, paradoxically, it made him feel like he had to act more to keep up the appearance. It put him under more pressure to meet the higher expectations people had when they saw him. Compared to that, running around in ripped jeans and graphic shirts already conveyed everything they needed to know about him: a nerd and every stereotype attached to that word. It was easier to live up to that kind of expectation than to whatever people imagined when they saw him dressed like a successful business man. Usually Simon couldn’t care less about their opinion, because he wasn’t out to impress anyone when he was following Raphael around.

This was different. This was someone Raphael actually wanted something from.

Simon could deal with appreciative looks switching to utter confusion, boredom or disappointment, when he opened his mouth and instead of sophisticated sounding platitudes all that left were movie quotes, rants about comics or, worst case, awkward silence. Showing up looking like a bump and sticking out like a sore thumb was much worse in comparison. But this superficial crap probably didn’t work with Lazar. Simon genuinely wanted the man’s acceptance, even if it was only for Raphael’s sake, but he didn’t want it by pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

“First time you lent me a suit,” Simon tried again. “It felt like a turning point. Simon Lewis, finally grown up, embracing the new me and looking the part. But I realized, no matter how expensive the clothes, they can’t hide who I am.”

“They aren’t supposed to hide who you are,” Raphael replied calmly.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I know, I’ve been the one asking for your help all the time and I _do_ feel better and I _do_ look amazing. I mean,” Simon let his eyes roam the closet, now aware that part of the clothes weren’t Raphael’s but _his_ and it made him feel something he couldn’t define. “Just today. Today I think I can’t sell it like this.”

“I don’t understand,” Raphael said after a pause, mildly confused. Simon hunched his shoulders, feeling inadequate with his inability to convey his thoughts. “But I don’t have to.” Without forewarning, Raphael spun Simon around, hands quickly loosening the tie. “Would have preferred you told me before I did the Eldredge,” was all he mumbled and then his hands wandered to the jacket buttons. Simon stared at him. Raphael appeared annoyed but not overly offended as he suddenly began to unbutton the suit jacket. “I don’t have a blazer for you, so we have to compromise with the jacket,” he continued, sounding preoccupied. “Get undressed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“What?”

“Blazer. For jeans.”

Simon still didn’t understand but Raphael was already on his way out. Seriously, the ‘what’ hadn’t been related to the blazer at all, but he decided to just follow orders. He had gotten pretty good at that. “What’s the difference between them, anyway?” he muttered to himself, shaking the jacket off when Raphael suddenly poked his head back in, solely to show exactly how unimpressed he was with that reply.

Simon ducked his head, but got to work on his trousers then stopped, realizing that by the time Raphael was back, he’d only be in his underwear. There was no way in hell he was waiting for the other in his shorts. It wasn’t much, but he still had some dignity left.

When Raphael returned, all Simon had dropped were jacket and shirt. The Latino silently raised an eyebrow, but didn’t bother to comment otherwise, instead held a selection of shirts against the jacket. “If you go for casual business, contrast is key,” he started to explain. “Either match the jacket to the jeans or the shirt to the jeans. Colorful to white, light to dark. Couldn’t find a fitting belt so we have to use one of mine.”

Simon only nodded, when Raphael handed him a dark-blue jeans and shirt, that he must have picked from Simon’s closet because he was the only one in this hotel who’d run around with something from Adventure Time. “You’re seriously allowing me to wear this?” Simon asked, incredulously staring at the shirt depicting Marceline with her bass guitar. The fact that this wasn’t only one of his favorite shirts but also perfect on so many different levels made Simon think that Raphael must have actually listened to him rambling about the show.

“It was this or the math joke,” Raphael replied, heading to a drawer behind Simon where he kept his belts. “I though this was appropriate.”

“Appropriate,” Simon snorted, before switching the trousers with the jeans. Raphael feigned being busy with choosing the right belt, though he had probably already known which one he wanted before setting foot back into the dressing room. As soon as Simon zipped up, Raphael turned around and promptly began to slot the belt through the loops.

Honestly, being tended to like that by Raphael shouldn’t feel that empowering. It wasn’t even the first time Raphael helped him dress, but never to this extent. Simon realized he didn’t mind the attention and fussing, as weird or embarrassing as it should be. In fact, he liked it more than he’d wanted to admit. Which probably explained why he had never told Raphael that he did know how to tie a Windsor knot. Months back, when Raphael had asked, Simon had just been trying to be sarcastic when he claimed otherwise, yet, and he was still slightly offended by that, Raphael had taken it at face value without once questioning it.

Maybe he also liked the way Raphael did it all with such an air of naturalness as if they had been doing this for years. Still, even if the other didn’t seem to mind at all, Simon felt like he was taking advantage of the situation. Stepping back, he left Raphael’s hands hanging in the air, curious expression on his face.

“I can take it from here.”

Raphael’s lips curled into a smirk. “Come out when you’re done. Leave the tie off.”

Simon nodded.

After he was presentable, he fleetingly checked his appearance in one of the mirrors and then stepped into the bedroom. Raphael didn’t react when he entered, attention drawn to something in his hand, which he closed to a fist as soon as Simon approached him.

“What’s that?”

Raphael glanced at him over the shoulder and whatever he had been holding vanished in one of his pockets as he turned around. “Nothing,” he replied and Simon knew better than to pry.

Raphael gave him an approving once-over and then ushered him out of the bedroom, saying that he wouldn’t stand for them being late because Simon wanted to show off how good he looked.

The meeting with Lazar was supposed to be in a posh upper society Downworlder exclusive club Simon had never heard of somewhere in Manhattan. Standing in front of the building, he knew exactly why he didn’t known this place existed in the first place. Everything was gold and silver and amber and reminded him of one of the two designs Frederick had presented to him as an idea for the hotel lobby.

Thankfully Simon had been able to choose the more comfy version. Looking at the real deal was oppressive and intimidating. Also thank God Simon had Raphael as his personal fashion advisor, because his usual appearance would have made him feel like a tiny insect. Instead, Raphael had managed to pull off the hot nerdy look only myths and media spoke of. He was wearing a fan-shirt and, while indeed casual, still appeared to belong in this specific establishment. It was the jacket and the belt, most likely. Now that Simon looked closer at it, the belt was probably worth more than the whole wardrobe and it showed.

Or it was just his imagination acting up again.

Anyway, now that he looked the part, he only had to rock that confidence.

Easy peasy.

‘Lazar’s the host, follow his lead,’ Raphael had advised before they had entered the building. Easier said then done, Simon realized about five minutes into the meeting, because Lazar was silent apart from a short introduction, apparently happy to let his second in command, a spirited dark-haired woman named Jasmine, do most of the talking. The second person Lazar had brought along from his clan was his daughter, Anna, a woman with short blond hair, red painted lips and dressed in a skintight dress that put Izzy’s wardrobe to shame. While Anna was quietly watching them with an omnipresent smirk on her lips, she didn’t seem all that inclined to join the conversation either.

Simon was confused and intimidated and Lazar was glaring at nothing and ignoring everything. He wondered how long he had to wait until it was acceptable to drag Raphael into the restroom and ask for an explanation of what the hell was going on.

If Lazar’s silence and unapproachable behavior bothered Raphael, he didn’t show. Smooth as ever he just followed whatever topic came up, keeping the conversation flowing until Jasmine steered it into foreign territory: Heavy Metal. Simon had hoped for that ever since he had spotted the black van Halen shirt she was wearing, silently sending prayers of gratitude to whatever deity was listening because music was something he could talk about for hours.

When Raphael let Simon handle that part of the conversation, Anna finally decided to address a few questions at him, seductive smile on her lips, voice pleasantly husky but pitch dropping noticeably. Simon suddenly had the urge to kick her.

All in all, it was pretty friendly. It was just like an outing with his friends. Not what he had expected. It wasn’t until Lazar suddenly stood up and politely asked Raphael to follow him to the bar that the mood shifted noticeably. If not for a brief brush of hands, as if to assure him that everything was fine, Simon wouldn’t have let Raphael go off alone. He followed both clan leaders with his eyes until they sat down at the bar, worrying his lower lip between teeth.

“Thank fucking finally,” Jasmine suddenly breathed, sounding extremely relieved.

Anna just gave a hearty sigh, eyes still on the bar, voice dreamy as she said, “You’re sooo lucky, Simon. You get to stare at that ass every day.”

Simon choked on air.

As soon as he got some semblance of dignity back, he stared at her with wide eyes in disbelief. Anna watched him with an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Just looking, not touching. I’m not interested in someone who’s taken.”

Simon opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about when Jasmine interrupted his train of thought. “I almost feel bad we didn’t get a chance to warn the poor boy.”

“Oh, you’ve seen him, he’ll manage, I’m sure. Just be glad Lazar didn’t drag it out for hours,” Anna dismissed her friends concern with a wave of her hand, predatory eyes on Simon as her lips twisted into a wicked smile. “So, Simon. How about we get to know each other a little better now that the boss is away?”

Simon had to remind himself that he was a vampire, that his body didn’t possess the function to sweat anymore no matter what his brain was suggesting. Under her gaze, though, he still felt like a rodent trapped in a snake’s coil. Leaning forward and casually stirring her drink, Anna reminded him of Izzy when she was about to get every single secret out of her victims.

“I’m very interested in you.” Simon almost shrunk under her scrutiny, but managed to stay upright. He was a little proud of himself for that. “May I ask some questions?”

“Sure, go ahead,” he allowed, hoping she was going to stick to tame topics.

“How long have you been with the clan?”

“About a year,” Simon answered, truthfully. That’s a line of question he was able to handle. As long as she didn’t want to know how he had joined the clan everything should be fine.

“And how long have you been a vampire?”

“Same.”

“Oh, that’s why they call you ‘baby’,” Jasmine said like she just solved an especially difficult riddle. Simon didn’t even blink at the mention of his nickname. He would have been more surprised if they hadn’t known about that. “You actually _are_ a baby!”

“That’s so adorable,” Anna cooed. “Who’s your sire?”

Simon paused for a moment and he knew by the way Anna’s and Jasmine’s expressions turned to concern that they noticed his resentment to the question. “My sire,” he started, quelling the disgust with a derisive snort. “From what I’ve heard, a sire doesn’t kill and then leave your corpse to rot. My clan members told me, a sire is usually there to support you after the change.”

After listening to Arya’s and Bernice’s stories, Simon got to talk to other vampires about their sire and was surprised to find out that cases like Raphael and him weren’t the norm, but in fact the outliers. While vampires like Julliard had been blinded by misleading promises of eternal youth or unrivaled power, they had at least chosen to be turned. However, the foremost reason for someone turning was accidents, like in the case of Arya. Newborn vampires who misjudged the amount they could drink, then panicked and tried to redeem their mistake by feeding their victim blood to keep them alive. Vampirism as a cure was also something that came up a lot.

Cases like Simon and Raphael, involving brutal murder and calculated insanity, were surprisingly at the bottom of the list. Simon had been glad that not everyone had to suffer the same fate he did, but part of him had been annoyed that he yet again had gotten the short end of the stick. Until he had worked through his self pity and remembered that everyone had to die before getting turned and still suffered the same consequences.

Even if Simon didn’t have his sire to help him, and honestly, in his case that was a blessing, he at least wasn’t left alone like some other poor souls.

Simon’s eyes came to rest on Raphael, who was sitting next to Lazar on a bar stool, his expression carefully void of any emotion. To everyone in the room, it must appear blank, but to Simon it was a sign that whatever they were talking about was something out of Raphael’s depth. “To me, my sire,” he continued, returning his attention to the two women, “is not the one who fed me their blood, but the one who taught me how to be a vampire.” His lips quirked into a smile as he recalled the fight with Raphael in the gym shortly after he had returned to the clan. “A better vampire.”

Jasmine had followed his gaze to Raphael, but slowly turned around with a solemn expression. “I figure your turning wasn’t a pleasant affair.”

“Could have been better,” he replied with a shrug. “Could have been worse. Preferred if it hadn’t happened at all. I was happy as a squishy Mundane.”

Anna chuckled at that. “I have to be honest, when I found out about this meeting, my first reaction was ‘Who’s Simon?’. I mean, we do live in a cave but I thought I’d still know the important players. Now I know why you’re news to me.”

“Not really that important,” Simon corrected.

“You showing up next to someone like Raphael Santiago?” Jasmine said with raised eyebrows. “Leader of one of the largest vampire clans? Definitely important. Surprisingly not a lot of information going around about you, though.”

“Yeah, we tried to find out a bit about you,” Anna continued. “Operative word tried. Even though you’re well known, no one was willing to offer any details.” She chuckled, as if remembering a funny joke as she looked over to Jasmine, who met her gaze with the same amusement. “One of your guys told me to fuck off.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that they wanted to know who they were meeting and dealing with. For a brief moment Simon wondered what the status of his social media profile was like and if they would have gotten something from it apart from the fact that he was apparently very fixated on his bass. “I’m sorry?”

“Ah, don’t worry,” Anna dismissed his words. “A protective clan is a good clan.”

Simon didn’t know what to say to that. For one, he was a little peeved that someone was being so rude to an outsider. Probably Charles. Charles was a dick to anyone. But still, he assumed that the reluctance to talk about him stemmed more from the annoyance of having such a weird and pesky guy like Simon in their clan in the first place than actual protectiveness.

“I did get the info that you’re a bit of an airhead.”

That was about the nicest thing Simon had heard about him from the clan. He actually felt a little touched and hoped it didn’t show. By the way Anna chuckled again, it probably did.

“You’re very expressive. I’m surprised Raphael keeps you around with that kind of face. I’d think it must be a weakness to someone like him.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Guys like Raphael, they usually have secrets. But you’d give them away immediately. You probably can’t lie to save your life. That’s why it’s so interesting to see you two together. Raphael is difficult to read, but with you, I just have to look at you and feel like I know what I need to know. Your reactions show me more than his. Probably makes people think you’re more trustworthy.”

Simon glanced at Jasmine, who gave him an encouraging smile that did more harm than good in that moment. Talking to the two women was easy, comfortable. Now he had a feeling that they had lured him into false security and Anna was trying to steer him in a certain direction. He was undecided if this was good or bad. Or maybe he was just getting paranoid from the exposure to all those deceiving snakes he was forced to deal with at the usual events.

“What kind of work do you do in your clan?” Jasmine suddenly asked, switching the topic apropos of nothing.

“Accounting, mostly,” he replied, somewhat cautious now. “Keeping track of Raphael’s schedule. Some odd jobs here and there.”

“What kind of odd jobs?”

Simon shrugged. “Things no one else wants to do. Mostly cleaning.” He sighed, rolling his eyes because his clan really _hated_ cleaning up after themselves. “A lot of cleaning. Sometimes I break up fights. Organize schedules. Run errands. Stuff like that.”

“I see,” Anna said with a smile. “You’re kinda the clan mom.”

“I am not—” Simon started, indignantly, but then stopped himself, when he remembered that just the day before Victoria and Pam had stormed Raphael’s office while yelling at each other. Raphael, annoyed at the ruckus, had left the room while Simon tried to calm them down and find out what they were fighting over. It was about a dress, that both claimed to have bought and lent to the other about a decade ago. Simon had spent half an hour negotiating between the two until he threatened the King Solomon approach and that finally shut them up.

A few days before that Frederick had unhinged Simon’s bedroom door in his panic, explaining that he had screwed something horribly up and needed his help fixing it before Raphael was going to notice. Even more examples popped into his head, reminding him of his own mother and what she had dealt with for Becks and him.

“Crap,” he stated with sudden clarity, “I’m the mom.”

The hell. When did that happen? Simon knew he was a busybody and sometimes stuck his nose where it didn’t belong but when had everyone gotten into the habit of coming to him for their problems as long as they weren’t generally clan related? Oh God, he even was the one to clean dirty mugs left in the kitchen when it wasn’t his duty simply because he didn’t want to deal with vampires screaming at each other. He proposed activities for quality time with each other. He ran errands for _everyone_ when he was already out and about for Raphael anyway.

After all the jokes he had made about Lily being a dad and, in a logical conclusion, deciding that Raphael therefore had to be the mom, it was actually _him_.

“Congrats,” Anna smirked. “They are…” She paused with a frown, wrinkling her forehead. “I wanted to say the equivalent of triplets but I have no idea what that’d be for 50 plus people. Penta… deca… something?”

“Pentecontaplets, maybe,” Simon offered distractedly, still somewhat shocked that he hadn’t realized his own place in the clan, even though it should have been obvious. His clan not only tolerated but actually _accepted_ and _liked_ him. It shouldn’t be as astonishing as it was, but Simon had always thought that he still wasn’t worthy of their trust, that he still had to make up for the whole Camille fiasco and the way he had treated them the first time he had been around. The clan had probably really left that part of their history behind and Simon was the only one who still hung up about that.

“That’s such a smart move,” Jasmine said, voice tinted with a hint of respect. “From Raphael, I mean.”

Confused, Simon looked at her, while Anna repeated the word pentecontaplets a couple times to herself and then pulled her phone out to look it up.

“Might be kind of random for you, but I’ve met Lily a few times back when she was still pretty close with Camille,” Jasmine continued. “I’ve always admired her a lot. Lily I mean, not Camille. But when Raphael showed up, Lily was suddenly out of the picture. I thought Camille had traded Lily for a new toy, but it was the other way around. It was actually Camille who had been replaced.”

Simon tilted his head, unsure where this was going.

“You see, when I heard that Camille had been sent to Idris, and Raphael showed up with Lily, I was hardly surprised. Lily has, as far as I’ve known, always been in charge of the soldiers. Without Lily’s support, Raphael would’ve never been able to overthrow her. For a successful coup d’état, you have to own the troops.” The tips of her fingers thrummed on the table as she watched Simon with unerring bluntness, checking his reaction to everything she said. “Seeing them together, it was obvious Lily likes Raphael a lot. As long as she’s on his side and in charge of your soldiers, his standing as clan leader was more or less secure. However, reigning only with fear and terror makes you a dictator, not a leader.”

Slowly, Simon realized what she was trying to get at. He didn’t like what she was implying.

“Lily as his left hand for the stick, you as his right hand for the carrot, I assume. She has the power and you have the heart, and from what I’ve seen, you are both loyal to him. Clever indeed.”

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. Jasmine’s pleasant, open and affable personality had instantly morphed into cold sharpness while she had been talking. While she had been smiling and laughing before, she was now watching Simon patiently but impassively. He didn’t know how to reply to her words. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to reply at all.

“What are you trying to say,” Simon eventually asked, fighting to keep the growl from his voice.

Jasmine answered with a half-shrug. “He’s charming, has a good face, too. Word is he doesn’t refrain from using his charm, seducing whoever he needs to get what he wants. Must have learned that from Camille, student and teacher, right? They are alike. I’m sure he wrapped Lily around his finger with some sweet words, too. Probably the same way he did with you.”

For a moment Simon was torn between laughing hysterically at the absurd accusation and lunging over the table to shake some sense into her. Then he pondered, horrified, if they had noticed his feelings for Raphael from the short interactions between them. And it was true that Lily didn’t keep it a secret how important Raphael was to her.

“I have to disagree on that,” Anna suddenly chipped in. “Because he kicked me. Twice.”

Jasmine opened her mouth to say something, then whipped her head around with a questioning frown. “What?”

Anna shrugged non-nonchalantly. “I think he wasn’t very happy with where my foot was straying. Didn’t even hold back that second time.”

Simon looked at the spot Raphael had occupied earlier, then to Anna who had been sitting right across from him. For a brief second, before the outrage hit him, Simon was more appalled at the fact that he hadn’t noticed anything weird going on. Considering Raphael’s apparent even if quickly concealed reaction to Simon only intertwining their fingers in his mother’s dining room, Simon would have assumed that he’d notice Raphael acting strangely because someone was apparently trying to play footsie under the table. Simon had been sitting right there next to him and been completely oblivious.

However that did explain Anna spilling her drink once during the meeting.

“The fuck?” he said eloquently and with every bit of diplomacy he could gather under the circumstances.

At least Anna looked apologetic, when she said, “I just wanted to see how he’d react. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

This didn’t help to stop the anger suddenly boiling up in Simon at the thought that Raphael had been subjected to that in the first place and what it said about their intentions. “You were never going to give him a chance, were you?” he suddenly heard himself asking, barely holding on to a reasonable degree of indignation.

“I like you, Simon,” Jasmine said, like this was helping the situation. “You seem like a really nice guy, but Raphael is a different matter. He doesn’t have the most favorable reputation. Not in my opinion at least. I’m aware that other vampire clans would bite at the chance of working with you. We are not like them.”

“Then why this meeting?”

“Because Lazar insisted,” Anna explained. “And I have to admit, I was curious about you.”

Simon pressed his lips together, staring at the two women. He didn’t know all the rumors going around, because most people didn’t dare badmouth Raphael in his presence even if they thought he was only an idiot dressed in shiny clothes. He didn’t know what kind of information and bias he was working against and it put him at a disadvantage. On the other hand, Simon didn’t know what Raphael had been doing for Camille over the years anyway. For all he knew, everything they had heard was the truth.

It irked him, to realize how much crap Raphael had to put up with, even if for real reasons. Not that Simon would be able to judge that. It just showed how little he actually knew about Raphael’s past, how the only information he did have from the time before he had joined the clan had never come from the source but always from somewhere else, even if it was clan members.

Balling his hand into a fist, he let his eyes wander from Jasmine to Anna and then to Raphael at the bar, then he pushed himself up.

“What are you doing?” Anna asked.

Simon looked at her sideways. “My job,” he replied, beginning to move towards the bar but was stopped by Anna, who was in front of him in the blink of an eye.

“Explain.”

He lifted a hand to her shoulder to move her out of the way. “I’m the First Advisor to the Interim Chapter President of the New York Vampire Clan,” Simon hissed. Still interim. _Still_ a mouthful. “And I’m going to advise him to leave with me, because I won’t let you waste his time.”

“We’re not wasting his time.”

“You are,” he snarled, annoyed. “You’re so concerned with rumors that you wouldn’t even give him the time of the day. I noticed how you brushed him aside when we were talking. I thought it was fine, because he said you’d try to get to know me better. That you’ve known him for years. But you don’t know him at all. You only know _about_ him. If you honestly cared about getting to know us, you’d have talked to people who actually work with us. Then you’d know that he treats his partners with respect and doesn’t need to resort to underhanded methods.”

Simon had seen the way Raphael engaged with Eira and other people he had contracts with, how he was willing to discuss and find a way that benefited both sides. How instead of using his charm, he resorted to a somewhat rude bluntness in negotiations that let everyone know exactly were they stood without having to read between lines and fine print.

“I admit,” he added, “he’d do everything to ensure the safety of the clan. He wouldn’t accept anyone threatening it, no matter who it is. But whatever he might have done in the past, even if some of what you’ve heard is true, he didn’t do it for his own gain.”

Simon looked back to Jasmine. “You said that Lily has the power and I have the heart? So what if it keeps the clan united under Raphael? Between Downworlder plots and the Clave’s oppression, it wouldn’t be enough to keep everyone save anyway. Someone has to know the rules of the game and play it. Someone has to be able to stand up and know when to back off. Someone has to make the unpopular choices and do the dirty work. Raphael’s the type of person who thinks it’s better if he suffers the consequences and repercussions than someone else. That’s why he’s doing it.”

“Are you defending his actions?”

“No,” Simon replied. “I don’t even know what rumors you’re referring to. I’m saying, that if something of it were true and he did do something untoward, he probably had a damn good reason for it. He’s not the power hungry maniac Camille is. If you can’t see that because you’re blinded by your prejudices, that’s your problem. Now let me go.”

“Sit down, Simon,” Anna said calmly, but Simon just lifted his chin defiantly. “Please.”

He hesitated, until he caught Raphael watching them. For a second he panicked, thinking that he must have heard what Simon had said until he remembered the silencing wards all over the club. He probably must have noticed them arguing while standing up. Inclining his head in an obvious gesture that let Simon know that Raphael would be across the room in a second if Simon gave him a sign, he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Please,” Anna repeated.

Simon almost pouted at his own inability to refuse puppy dog eyes from _anyone_. With a heavy sigh, he made a vague gesture for Raphael that hopefully conveyed that everything was fine, and sat down again. Anna followed by occupying the seat next to him now, effectively boxing him into the sitting booth. If he was too fed up with them, he would just jump on the table, he decided childishly. At this point, he wasn’t bothered by making a scene even if it’d earned him a speech by Raphael later.

“I’m sorry for offending you,” Anna said.

“You didn’t _offend_ me.”

“You might be right by saying that we put too much weight on rumors. And to be fair, not everything we hear is bad.”

Simon scoffed, then realized that he might have to tone it down a bit no matter how conflicted he was feeling right now. He wondered how Raphael would handle this situation.

“For example,” Anna continued, watching him carefully as if she was expecting him to flee through the window, “is it true that your clan works together with Shadowhunters and werewolves?”

“From what I’ve learned, it’s considered a disgrace,” Simon stated, raising both eyebrows.

“To other vampires maybe. I think it’s pretty clever. Our clan is small. We live secluded and don’t mingle with politics. We don’t have an exhausting security net, however I’m proud to admit that we are rather self-sufficient and hard to take down. Yet, having some connection with other Downworlders would be fortunate indeed.”

“And it would be nice to talk to other Shadowhunters again without being looked down on,” Jasmine added. At Simon’s questioning frown, she smiled hesitantly, then pointed at herself. “Used to be one.” That caught him off-guard. “I was hunting a rogue vamp. He killed my partner and left me to die. When Lazar appeared I begged him to turn me. There was no way I’d die there, I mean, I had tickets for AC/DC. But of course, after being turned, I was lucky my old Shadowhunter friends didn’t kill me.”

Simon was at his wits end. It was like he was talking to two different people all over again, the same he’d met at the beginning of the meeting. Either they were as bad and inexperienced at this as Simon was or incredibly good. Simon somehow wanted to think that it was the former and accepted what he considered a peace-offering from Jasmine.

“And there’s the reason for this meeting in general,” Anna continued. “Haven’t had the vampire society throw such a hissy fit ever since… I don’t know, World War II?”

This wasn’t going to die anytime soon, Simon acknowledged with a hint of regret. He knew that the incident at the last Christmas party had more or less cemented his reputation of being the dorkiest dork to have ever dork, but he still hoped people would stop bringing that up. While it might be funny in retrospect, Simon had been genuinely terrified when it happened and was still waiting for Natalie's revenge.

So far, the worst had been some ridicule from his clan as soon as word spread about what had happened. When Simon had been to another meeting with the Shadowhunters, Jace brought it up and made some jokes about standing far away from him. Not to forget one spectacularly enlightening phone call with Magnus, who wouldn’t stop gossiping about all the things he had heard about that ‘Red Dress incident’, sounding excited and proud of the fact that he actually knew two of the misfits involved.

It was rather tame.

Simon expected the other shoe to drop soon.

“Lazar always thought Raphael lacked a backbone,” Anna went on, “you know, with the way he did everything for Camille even though it was apparent they didn’t get along. But after that, I think he lacks common sense more than a backbone. Not even we’d mess with Natalie and we really hate her.”

From the rumors he had heard… and Simon paused that thought instantly when he realized that _maybe,_ damn it, he also relied a tiny bit on the gossip he heard. Wow, he was a hypocrite.

“But his action fits to what you’ve said. That he doesn’t stand for anyone threatening his clan. It matches with what I’ve seen about your clan in general, too. Loyalty, protectiveness and solidarity. You don’t get that with a leader who you’d think is stabbing you in the back.”

“I don’t know,” Simon said, because he sometimes didn’t know when to shut his mouth. “Could also be a sign of us being too afraid of talking about him.”

Anna smiled. “Then I’d see fear, not defiance. They didn’t look like they were afraid of saying something wrong. You see, while they wouldn’t talk about Raphael and you, boy did they get talking when it came to Camille. Not nice words either.”

As far as Simon was concerned, that was because there was absolutely nothing good about Camille to begin with.

“You might think the worst of us now, but we did come here with open minds,” Jasmine continued. “We wouldn’t have met with you if we thought it didn’t have the possibility of leading to something. We’re not fond of wasting our time, either. But we are cautious. You see, Lazar… has a terrible history with people. He’s not very good with others. However, he’s very important to us and we want to protect him from people who want to abuse his trust. And if we have to be the bad guy, so be it.” She quirked her lips into a smile and Simon caught the reference to what he had said about Raphael immediately.

“I’m not Lazar’s real daughter,” Anna picked up the thread. “Just the first vampire he turned. We’re his only family now. So I can relate to Raphael on this level. And I’m willing to concede that maybe a lot of his past transgression were influenced by working for Camille. It’s not a secret what kind of monster she was. However it wasn’t like he didn’t have the option to just leave her behind. He stayed. For years. And fixed all her mistakes. He might as well have done all the terrible things she did himself by covering it up.”

Simon opened his mouth, but Anna already lifted her hand in a placating manner. “I get it,” she added quickly. Either she was mocking him, or she honestly wanted to keep the peace. “He probably had his reasons. Anyway, I think, you can judge a person by the type of people they associate with. So I’m willing to give him a chance, because I’m willing to give _you_ a chance. But don’t misunderstand,” Her expression turned dark as she looked at him, “I’ll do anything to protect my clan, too. So if you screw us over, even if we are small in numbers, we’ll make you pay.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Simon replied seriously.

“Anything to add, Jasmine?”

The other woman shook her head, just looked in the direction of the bar. “No. And I think it’s time we rescue Raphael.”

Simon’s head snapped up at that, worried. He had realized that Raphael didn’t seem fond of whatever he was talking about with Lazar but he hadn’t given Simon any reason to worry, yet. “Why? What are they talking about?”

“No idea,” Anna said, “Don’t worry, Lazar isn’t actually harming him. Not purposefully. He’s just somewhat awkward.”

“He wants to get to know Raphael on a personal level but tends to,” Jasmine seemed to look for the right word before she finally settling on “overshare.”

Considering that Simon was also the type to overshare and Raphael had long gotten used to his ramblings, he didn’t think that this would lead to a problem. It was more troublesome if Raphael had to share something about himself. That’s were comfort zone met panic zone, or in Raphael’s case, deadly silence zone, because Raphael didn’t panic, no, he simply stared someone down until the person backed out of the conversation, all the while apologizing scared out of their wits. Or maybe that was just Simon’s way of handling that situation.

“I should get them,” Jasmine said. “Lazar has probably exhausted his daily limit for social interactions by now.”

“Or you could give us a few minutes to make up for being jerks to Simon.”

“You haven’t been that bad,” Simon said, more out of reflex. He was more concerned with the fact that maybe _he_ had been the one in the wrong to suddenly blow a fuse. After all, he could understand their reservations and situation. If Simon didn’t know Raphael he wondered what he’d have thought about him after hearing what they did. It wasn’t like he wasn’t prone to pull out the rumor card when he didn’t know what was going on as well. “I admit I can get… defensive about a few things.”

“So precious,” Anna said, pinching his cheek. “Where can I get someone like you? I want someone to protect my honor as well.”

“Pretty sure you’ve people lining up for that.”

She laughed, but didn’t reply, instead got up to fetch Raphael and Lazar from the bar. When they returned, Simon felt uneasy under Raphael’s eyes without knowing why. He obviously didn’t blow the meeting, at least he assumed from the way Jasmine and Anna acted all friendly again and didn’t look like they were plotting his demise.

They even parted on somewhat amicable terms, Lazar grunting a few words at Simon while Jasmine promised a more relaxing meeting next time in a manner that made Simon believe they were planning a double date.

On the way back to the hotel, Simon kept throwing glances at Raphael, itching to find out what had been happening with Lazar. At the same time wondering why Raphael hadn’t asked any question yet about what Simon had been doing.

“What, Simon?” Raphael asked with a sigh after the fifth or sixth time Simon had glanced his way, opened his mouth to say something and then decided against it.

“Just, you know, what have you been talking about? With Lazar?”

“Fishing,” Raphael answered.

“Fishing,” Simon said, just to make sure that he hadn’t misheard.

“Fishing,” Raphael repeated again, without inflection.

Simon was silent for a moment, processing the thought. From everything he had come up with in his mind, considering how slightly uncomfortable and out of his depth Raphael had appeared, fishing was not on that list at all. “Do you know anything about fishing?”

“I don’t. I think he invited us to do it with him, but I’m not sure.”

How utterly awkward did Lazar have to be to confuse Raphael? Simon wondered if this was a new super power.

“So he just kept talking about it?” Raphael must have been able to deal with that, considering how often Simon talked at Raphael about stuff he didn’t know about. One memorable night, Simon had explained the whole Marvel universe and cross-overs to Raphael without taking a breath once. Not that he needed to. Raphael had just listened to him prattle – or maybe tuned him out, he wasn’t all that sure – and made some noncommittal noise in intervals that Simon had interpreted as ‘I’m still here and listening, go on’ but most likely meant ‘What? You’re still talking? Time to tune you out again’.

“I told him that I don’t know anything about fishing, so he started to talk about knotting.” Simon promptly missed a step and almost face-planted on the sidewalk if not for Raphael catching and stabilizing him without batting an eyelash or even looking in his direction. “Butterfly, bowline, figure eight. He told me how to make each one and when to use them.”

“Right, knots, knotting, that kind.”

“What kind were you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Simon said, looking at Raphael like he just spotted a unicorn. “Please stay pure and innocent forever.”

Thankfully, Raphael was content dropping the subject by giving him a single odd look and then switched the topic. “How was it on your end? It seemed to get tense.”

Tense was a nice word for Simon totally losing it over someone insulting Raphael. He probably had to rethink his impulse control, but it honestly shouldn’t surprise him. He was the same with Clary after all. The only difference was that Raphael didn’t care about his own reputation and what was being said about him. He had always shown such an impassive reaction to everything concerning his own name that it was ridiculous that Simon got angry at all. Ultimately though, this was exactly the reason why Simon did it. _Someone_ had to.

“It went fine. Until they mentioned some rumors. About you.”

Raphael nodded but when Simon didn’t continue, turned to look at him and prompted him to go on. “And?”

Simon shrugged. “I just got angry. It sounded like they trust those stupid lies more than what they see.”

“Lies,” Raphael repeated with a huff. “Don’t know about that.”

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Simon continued, “that I didn’t notice what was going on. With Anna. You know, under the table?”

Raphael scoffed at that. “I didn’t even get the feeling she was really coming on to me. More like she was teasing, so don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Yeah, saying that really didn’t make it better, Simon thought annoyed. And yes, he might have seen some people getting inappropriately close to Raphael and while he had taken it with a hint of humor when it had been that old as papyrus, blind Seelie consort, he was getting increasingly irritated at the fact that a lot of people apparently thought it was alright to do that. It was no wonder Lily was so fed up with everything and refused to go anywhere. Simon hadn’t noticed anyone else having to deal with that in such high numbers.

Maybe it really had to do with the rumors. Maybe being associated with Camille, who solved problems by using violence, deceit or sex, was a perpetual stain to one’s name and invited individuals who seemed to have the same mindset as Camille.

Simon wondered if there was another reason, as well.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, until Simon gathered the courage to voice his thoughts. “Are there—” he stopped, then gave himself another push. “Is there anything you’ve done, that you regret?”

It wasn’t what he wanted to ask.

He wanted to know more about Raphael, even about the bad things he had done, things he maybe wasn’t proud of himself. The other vampire had opened up a lot to Simon the past few months, had told him more about himself than Simon ever thought he would get. This was Simon getting greedy. Or maybe this was Simon’s way of getting rid of his pesky feelings for the clan leader, make him less appealing, to find fault in him and his actions.

Raphael took a while to reply. “Sometimes I wonder if I could have done better, yes. I reflect and learn from my mistakes, but I don’t linger on it. Regret implies that I keep going over it again and again. If that’s what you mean, then no, I don’t regret anything.” Raphael stopped, hand catching Simon’s, making him halt in his steps as well. “However, if you’d ask me if there’s something I’ve done I’m ashamed off or disgusted with, that would be a different answer.”

Simon licked his lips, nervously. “Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Would you… would you mind telling me what it was?”

“Not tonight.”

It was more than Simon could ask for. With a nod, he slowly continued to walk, his fingers now wrapped around Raphael’s hand, unwilling to let go, but knowing that he had to before it got strange or awkward. Yet, there was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, a restlessness that reminded him of dread and made him cling to this point of contact like so many times before.

To distract from it, Simon kept talking about the rather short conversation with Jasmine and Anna, most prominent his revelation that he was apparently the clan mom at which Raphael looked at him like he was from outer space for not realizing sooner, reminding him that he was doing _laundry_ for half the clan – the half of the clan that didn’t own expensive clothes that were ruined by a little too much detergent. Then Raphael went on by pointing out that Simon remembered the working schedule of most of the clan members at which Simon defended himself by stating that he didn’t _remember_ but had them logged into his calendar of his e-mail client and that, admittedly, wasn't better.

Oh God, he was so much worse than his mother.

All the way to the hotel, Raphael never mentioned the fact that Simon wasn’t letting go of him. Instead he seemed to resign himself to Simon’s clingy behavior and hid their hands in the pocket of his jacket, leading to both of them walking distractedly close to each other.

Simon tried to keep the smile out of his voice while he continued to worry aloud how he was going to let his mother know that she was now the grandmother of fifty vampires.


	17. Feel That Ice Is Slowly Melting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music. And music. And even more music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to hide under my bed and apologize for everything. Have fun?
> 
> Thanks again to my fantastic and fast beta, FanaticShipper07!  
> (I'm kind of sick of upping the chapter number everytime because I'm apparently really bad at planing, so I just set it to 30 hoping it will be _less_. I'm sorry. <.<)
> 
> Title: Here Comes The Sun - The Beatles

After the meeting with Lazar and all the holidays out of the way until Easter, normalcy finally settled into Simon’s life again, giving him time to finally tie up lose ends with Clary. It had been weeks since the last time they had seen each other. It hit him how much he had missed her the second he stepped into Taki’s and saw her waiting at one of the tables, drinks for both of them already ordered.

Simon decided to take the same approach Maureen had and tackled the uncomfortable topic from the start. Clary had been taken by surprise by his sudden bluntness, but caught herself quickly. They had been tip-toeing around it for a while whenever they had been chatting on the phone, but it was time to take the bull by the horn. So to speak.

It was a rather short conversation, mostly because Clary admitted that Simon was right about them meddling in the Shadow World. She had been learning a lot in Idris and been taught by Izzy and Alec the last couple months, but she understood that there was still a lot she didn’t know. After that, for a few painful minutes they both talked about Jocelyn. Her loss was still deeply rooted into their hearts, however barely mentioned – like they were pretending she was still with them.

It took them a moment of silence to emerge from their sad state of mind, Simon talking about his clan, briefly summarizing the most memorable moments of the first two months of the new year, ending with the story of Cecilia building a huge ass artificial volcano in the middle of the third floor common room and blowing a hole into the ceiling to the forth floor when she accidentally dropped a chunk of whatever the hell it was into the middle.

Simon left out how he had, furious, called her out on her bullshit about ‘accidents’, then proceeded to punish her by condemning her to clean-up duty for the next three months. Lily and Raphael had stood at the entrance to the room and looked at the aftermath of the explosion. By the time Simon had reduced Cecilia to a whimpering mess, because she was 158 years old and seriously should be more mature than him, Lily had already called someone to do repairs. For the rest of the day, Raphael made jokes about Simon using phrases he had obviously stolen from his mom to reprimand Cecilia. Simon had no idea how Raphael knew that, but the possibility that they belonged to every mother’s standard repertoire was high.

Simon also mentioned meeting Kirk briefly and felt a spark of fondness at Clary’s immediate protective worry and offer to beat his bully to a bloody pulp if he did anything. He laughed at that, but didn’t remind her that he was a vampire who should, perhaps, be able to defend himself against a measly human.

Clary in return explained that she had been on more missions with Izzy, most of it boring reconnaissance stuff that consisted of sitting around watching a building for hours or running through the streets of New York. The only thing that made it bearable was that she got to spend a lot of time with Izzy and that was always fun.

They continued for hours, Simon periodically checking his phone until Clary casually asked if he was waiting for a call. He wasn’t. He absolutely wasn’t. But dammit, he wasn’t only worse than his mother, he was worse than _Raphael_ by now. Simon was never ever going to be able to make jokes about the clan leader again if he couldn’t stay away from the hotel for a few hours without expecting shit hitting the fan.

Determined, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and tried to forget about it for the rest of the night.

When he returned to the Dumort, the hotel was still standing, no one had died, though Elliot had been close to another lynching after introducing a girl named Lydia to his lovers. Simon was going to establish a specific rule just for Elliot that was going to forbid talks about adding a new partner to poly-amorous couples in a ten mile vicinity of the hotel.

Apart from that, Spanish became something else Simon added to the list of the things Raphael had taught him. Realizing the appalling imbalance, he spontaneously decided that it was time to find a way to be useful as well.

“It’s just not fair,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air as he paced up and down in front of Raphael’s desk. The other vampire didn’t even acknowledge his unexplained outcry as he continued writing a reply to an invitation they had received.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Raphael said, even though Simon had reacted to his question of whether he was free to attend with a completely nonsensical reply. Raphael had gotten a little too used to Simon’s weirdness.

“When was the meeting again?”

“March 6th.”

“Should be alright,” he decided as he looked the date up on his phone and didn’t see any scheduled appointments pop up. Shoving the device back into his pocket, he returned to the matter at hand. “Anyway, you’re the only one who gets to make fun of me every time you teach me something. I want to poke fun at you, too!”

“If that’s the only reason you want to teach me anything, I’d rather refuse.”

It was more about how inadequate Simon felt by constantly being on the receiving end in their friendship. He knew that Raphael wasn’t bothered by it, and to some degree, showing Simon the ropes of becoming a vampire had been a necessary evil but everything beyond that, the Spanish, saying God and prayers, dealing with his family drama, that was not. Of course, forcing Raphael to be taught something he didn’t care about wasn’t making that any better.

“There’s nothing I can do for you?” Simon asked, feeling like a kicked puppy. It wasn’t a surprise. Their personal interests didn’t exactly align and the few times they did touch they went off in completely different directions and there was absolutely no area in which Simon was superior for the whole vampire topic. It was rather… grounding.

Raphael was most likely about to dismiss his words, when he looked up sharply like he remembered something. During the time it took him to continue, Simon’s anticipation was almost palpable. “Teach me how to play bass.”

Simon must have misheard. At best Raphael was joking with him. Confused, he furrowed his brow, trying to find the punch line. “I know it’s probably the only thing I know that you don’t, but if it doesn’t hold any interest to you, I wouldn’t recommend taking it on.”

“I’m interested. Teach me.”

Suspicion kept Simon reluctant to agree until he decided that Raphael was probably just indulging him and that the topic would never come up again. The next time they both were free, Simon showed up with the bass, fully expecting it to be ignored in favor of something else. Spotting the instrument, though, Raphael immediately abandoned the book he was reading, not a hint of annoyance or irritation on his face. Instead he was genuinely focused as Simon explained the basics.

Apparently they were really going to do that.

Therefore, while Raphael began to throw Spanish phrases with English translations into their everyday life, Simon taught him chords and strumming patterns. When Simon was listening to his audio course in Raphael’s room, Raphael was pointing out mistakes and corrections, while working on remembering the position of the notes on the fretboard.

A tiny part of Simon was somewhat jealous, but not entirely certain whether of Raphael, because the instrument looked really, really good on him, or of the instrument for receiving more attention than he did.

Raphael only made _a little_ fun of him, when he found out about Simon’s addiction to the over dramatic TV Show of María la del Barrio that by now had become his guilty pleasure, but Simon caught him watching too, and wordlessly, because he was nice like that, turned his phone so they both could watch. While Raphael’s attention never lasted longer than a few minutes at a time, huffing in annoyance at the absurdity, he also didn’t move from his spot on the bed next to Simon.

In exchange, like the amazing teacher Simon was, he stopped chuckling after about the fifth time he heard Raphael hiss with unflattering words whenever he pressed more strings than he wanted or didn’t manage to produce a clean sound. Until Raphael shifted his frustration to his own fingers, glaring at them like they were betraying him.

Simon was seriously trying to keep it together at the adorable display and eventually took pity. “Your nails are too long,” he explained, abandoning his audio course and sitting up on the bed he had been stretched out on, taking Raphael’s left hand in his own to inspect it. “Have you ever seen the hands of someone playing string instruments?”

Raphael stopped glaring at his own fingers as if he was threatening them with unspeakable pain if they didn’t follow his command. “Probably, but I wouldn’t pay attention to their nails.”

“They’ll have short nails at least on the left hand. See?” Simon turned his own to show it to the other. “Though I’ve seen some players with really long nails on the right hand. No idea how they do that. Probably the same as playing with a pick, I guess.”

“Do you use one?”

“Sometimes. Depends on the style of music I’m playing and sound I’m going for, but I’m not very good switching between techniques when I do. Tend to drop it.”

Raphael looked at their hands with a frown, before he withdrew his own to align a finger on the fretboard for the G#, then used the other hand to move the finger in the correct position so he wasn’t pressing the neighboring string. Simon bit his cheek hard to keep himself from doing something utterly annoying like cooing. He could watch this all day.

“Piano is easier,” Raphael declared with a frustrated sigh. On anyone else, it would have been a pout.

Simon laughed. “Easier at first, yes, but later? Don’t think so. Most bass lines are easy and repetitive. Piano has more on the side of repertoire.”

“That’s what sheet music is for.”

“As long as you can sight-read. And don’t mess up the page turning.”

“Not exclusive for piano.”

Simon ignored the argument. “I stuck with bass because reading tabs was easier. Of course, I learned how to read notes later anyway. And hey, at least I didn’t have to explain basic music theory to you! Hardest part already done!”

Raphael rolled his eyes but didn’t further reply, just stared at the bass in concentration, pressing on the string as he shifted along the board for the G# on the other strings, letting out annoyed hisses every time he realized he had the wrong note or touched on several strings.

“That’s it,” he snarled another few minutes later. “I’m getting Lily’s nail file.”

With a chuckle Simon took the instrument out of Raphael’s hand before the other vampire had the chance to storm off with it. “Gotta sacrifice a lot for music, but if your just playing around for a bit, leave them. And the flexibility will come with practice,” he assured as he began to play a random tune. When he didn’t get a reaction, Simon looked up, expecting Raphael to watch his hands but instead he was watching him.

“You really love music, don’t you?”

“Yep,” he replied, nonchalant. “It helped me cope with my dad’s death. And other stuff. I learned to express myself with music. When I couldn’t use my words.”

Raphael continued to look at him with an unreadable expression. Simon almost felt shy under his gaze and was tempted to hide or throw a pillow at him.

“Do you have time to go out with me tomorrow evening?”

The tune he was playing ended on a screech when Simon heard the question. “… Sure,” he answered slowly, reminding himself to calm down. “But you know that changes quickly.”

Considering the fast-paced and accidental-prone circumstances they lived in, making plans apart from anything related to clan business was usually a bad idea as the clan members had turned it into their mission to spoil any free time they could get by pulling stupid shit. Therefore, Simon and Raphael normally just sort of ended up together if they both weren’t busy. As far as Simon was concerned that didn’t happen nearly often enough. Then again, Simon was already wondering why Raphael wasn’t sick of him given that they worked together. It was a miracle he was even slightly interested enough to subject himself to even more of Simon’s rambling.

It wasn’t until Simon had spoken with Lily to make sure that she was in the hotel when they were gone, that Simon found himself suddenly way too excited. He slapped his own cheek and chanted a mantra that was supposed to remind him that Raphael was just a very good friend. Just like Clary had been and still was.

Raphael didn’t say where they were going but Simon knew the way they were going like the back of his hand. Magnus’ apartment. He gave himself an internal berating, voices in his head whispering ‘See, I told you so!’. It wasn’t like Raphael was going to take him out for a romantic dinner and a movie or whatever. Jesus, Simon really had to get his shit together. He knew he was getting somewhat conceited just because Raphael was willing to entertain a few of his whims.

When they entered the apartment without knocking, Simon raised his eyebrows in alarm. Raphael never just walked in even if he was expected. He could be on the brink of death and _still_ ring the door bell, whereas Simon was constantly barging in, expected or not. When they were met with utter silence, he began to worry. Magnus, always the good host, made it a point to greet his guests at the front door with the flair of an old English monarch. Now, only Chairman Meow raised his head lazily as they passed the sofa, then yawned and proceeded to ignore them.

“What’s going on? Where’s Magnus?”

“Out,” Raphael said while leading him through the illusion of changing hallways, a mechanism designed to confuse intruders but also managed to thoroughly confuse Simon as well. However, Raphael seemed to know his way around, confidently navigating the hallways until he pushed a door open without hesitation, revealing Magnus’ music room. Simon stopped dead in his tracks at the door.

“I can’t promise you weekly,” Raphael stated, approaching the same upright piano he had played at Simon’s birthday party. “Twice a month maybe. Would that be alright?”

Simon was possibly day-dreaming or in a coma or dying.

He hadn’t seen this coming. After his birthday party, when the clan kept him on his toes at every hour of the week, he had mostly forgotten about the challenge and the bet. The thought that Raphael was going to play with him a second time had never crossed his mind even once.

Simon had taken a look at the thick folder Raphael had left on his bed, had tried to transfer some of the pieces to the bass but barely found the time for a closer inspection, especially not with the wish list still growing and the restriction to the time he was allowed to practice. He had assumed that this was as close to playing with Raphael as it was going to be.

Dumbfounded, he followed the other vampire into the room.

“Of course it’d be alright. I know you have other things to do. But wouldn’t it be easier to use the music room at the hotel?” he asked, ignoring the happy feelings gradually building in the pit of his stomach and threatening to spill over.

“It’s not tuned.”

“Tuned?”

“The piano,” Raphael explained. “The one in the hotel hasn’t been tuned for decades. Magnus calls a technician twice a year.”

“Is that why you only play here?” Simon asked, baffled. And here he had suspected some deep meaningful secret.

“I like the soundproofed walls,” Raphael added, making it sound more like a question, a sign of how little he cared one way or another. “What did you have in mind when you proposed the bet?”

“Nothing, really,” Simon admitted. “Even if I’d won, I wouldn’t have forced you to do it anyway.”

“Force?” Raphael chuckled, while opening the lid of the upright piano. “Playing with you wasn’t a hardship. I quite enjoyed it.” Simon pinched himself in the upper arm just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming, then resented Raphael a little for being such a smooth talker and completely unaware of what he was doing. It was worse than Clary’s love confessions because at least she would end them on a disclaimer of being best friends. Not that Raphael thought in categorizing terms like that.

Heaving a silent sigh in resignation, Simon joined Raphael at the piano and dropped down on the stool.

“You said you used to play?” Raphael asked.

“Yeah. I got bored so I stopped. It’s just…” Simon shrugged, pressing the lowest note and working his way up. “Maybe it’s because I wasn’t any good or whatever, but I felt more connected to strings, feeling the vibrations, being able to move around,” he explained, jumping to the highest note. “Plus, I disliked my teacher.” Raphael sat down next to Simon as he continued to play around for a bit. “I don’t remember much. Just this.”

‘Mary had a little lamb’ was the first song he had played. When he still had been rather motivated to learn, he had practiced that song to perfection and never felt prouder in his life than when he finished it without mistake for the first time like it was the highlight of achievements. He chuckled at the memory.

“And I remember left hands chords and right hand melody.”

“Bach and Liszt would disagree,” Raphael replied, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“They have to take that up with my piano teacher, then. Not that they can. Or maybe they do? They were probably Downworlders. Are they vampires living on the Canary Islands with Elvis Presley and Paganini? Or maybe Warlocks? Oh, wait, Seelies, right?”

“No,” Raphael said, not even batting an eyelash at his bullshit.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’d be able to play that, anyway.”

“In a year or two maybe.”

Simon couldn’t even tell if that was meant as an insult or a realistic estimate. His knowledge of classical music was reduced to knowing about the most common ones by name and some by sound but not exactly the technique or level of difficulty behind them. So he decided to just ignore it. “What _would_ I be able to play?”

Raphael seemed to think for a bit, before placing the right hand on the piano. Barely four notes in, Simon already started laughing. “Tetris? You’d teach me the Tetris song?”

“Easy and repetitive,” Raphael said, quirking an eyebrow. “Fitting for a bass player.”

With a fake exaggerated gasp, Simon put his hand above the heart in utter indignation. “Oh, you didn’t!”

Abruptly, he stood up and headed over to the bass guitars hanging on the walls. “Alright, old man, I’ll show you easy and repetitive.” He made it sound like he was declaring war, and he had intended to show off by playing the hardest songs he had mastered until he realized that he was more likely to totally screw this up. It had been weeks since he had last honed his bass skills and taken on a real challenge instead of just playing a few easy riffs to make the other vampires happy. It was almost annoying how everything they wanted to hear when it came to bass was ‘Another One Bites The Dust’. A bit macabre considering their circumstances as well.

Dammit.

He should have considered that before his announcement.

“First of all, there are several techniques,” he began his lecture, tuning the bass guitar a bit longer than he needed to build some courage. Raphael nodded sharply like the earnest student he was pretending to be. “What I’ve been teaching you is fingerstyle.” Starting slowly he picked up the pace until he fell into the beginning of one of his favorite songs, also difficult because it was insanely fast and, even worse, all over the fretboard.

To be fair, Simon was uncertain if someone not playing the bass was able to acknowledge the difficulty, but it definitely wasn’t _repetitive and easy_. It also fit his mood because he honestly thought he was going to have a panic attack thanks to Raphael.

“Then there’s slapping. It’s using either the side or tip of the thumb.” There were a few songs that had killed his will to live as he learned them, songs he had spent hours practicing just to be good enough that he didn’t feel like throwing his bass out the window or burning it in the backyard and pick up a different hobby. Admittedly, he had been a little overzealous by tackling a Wooten early on without even knowing what a double thumb and triplet was. In the video it had looked _easy_. Now, his regret was that he hadn’t done any finger warm up before trying to show someone the complexity behind playing bass. At least he wasn’t in any danger of getting tendinitis anymore.

“Tapping,” he said, “which is, you know, as the name says, tapping the strings. It’s what I used for Für Elise.” He switched to the classical piece as he explained. When he looked up, Raphael was still watching him, albeit with a self-satisfaction that made Simon falter a little in his presentation. “There’s more,” he continued as he gave a short example of the techniques. “Like tapping harmonics. Polyphones. Chords. Sweep picking. Hybrids of different styles. Also having to play while combining different techniques and still getting out a clean sound is always a challenge. So it’s not all that easy,” he finished.

“Of course it’s not,” Raphael said, humor in his voice that made Simon frown. “It’s just what you kept telling me.”

Simon stared dumb-founded at the other man for several seconds. Then wondered if he could get away with hiding under the piano for the unforeseeable future. Or throw himself through the window, because yes, he had been downplaying his abilities in front of Raphael and at the same time insulted his favorite instrument every time they had been talking about it. He didn’t even know why he was doing that. Simon was acting like a fool about 80% of the time around Raphael. It was practically impossible to disappoint him more than he had throughout the year, let alone with his prowess in playing bass or lack thereof.

“It’s fun, and I love it,” he admitted meekly, then picked up some leftover courage. “But it was hard. Especially when I was being told that I wasted my time and should learn something else. And I got frustrated, like a lot, with my progress. I was thinking of giving up several times.”

“Yeah,” Raphael said, like he understood. Glancing at the piano he was standing next to, Simon knew that he did. Reaching his level had taken a lot of willpower, which might as well have turned into simple minded stubbornness at one point every time someone told him to invest his time in something worthwhile. “Show me.”

For a moment he hesitated but then decided to just screw everything. He _was_ a good bassist, he wasn’t the next Les Claypool or John Myung but he had practiced his ass off. He had put innumerable hours into teaching himself different techniques and had the skin to show it. And if Raphael was asking, who was he to deny that request?

While circling through difficult basslines, mixing in some improvisation as a bridge, Simon realized that he had never been this open in front of someone else. Sure, he was showing off once or twice with a few songs that _sounded_ impressive but usually really weren’t. He garnered a few compliments for them and kept on the safe side before losing face. If it wasn’t perfect, Simon wasn’t showing it, thinking he was proving other’s right in their assumption that he was wasting time just because he played a wrong note. So he had never shown techniques he had given up on more often over the years than he cared to remember, songs that he couldn’t do perfectly because they were just so damn hard.

But it was fine to mess up.

Now, Simon was simply enjoying playing something he was proud of, whether or not it was perfect or whether Raphael was able to appreciate the hard work behind it. When he stopped what felt like hours and at the same time seconds later, Raphael was leaning against the piano, arms akimbo, watching him with an intense gaze. Simon was too pumped and happy to feel shy, so he just cocked his head to the side as he pointed his finger at the other man. “Your turn.”

Raphael raised both eyebrows, but after short reflection sat down in front of the piano. “What do you want me to play?”

“Most frustrating piece you’ve learned.”

“That would be Gottschalk’s ‘La Savane’.”

Simon expected him to get the scores or at least look it up, but Raphael instantly started to play a slow melody. “What makes it so bad?” he asked, coming to sit down next to Raphael on the piano bench again, forcing the other to scoot over a little.

“The pacing.” A grin followed his words as he glanced at Simon out of the corner of his eyes. “I always thought it’s boring, repetitive and without direction. Magnus loves it and told me I simply don’t understand it. My disinterest and the piece’s general mood and tempo were a bad combination.”

“So it’s not because it challenged you?”

“It did,” Raphael huffed a laugh. “I wanted to sneak notes in just to make it more interesting. But it gets faster.”

“Any piece that challenged you musically?”

“Chopin's Etude Op. 10 no. 3.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Raphael closing his eyes as his fingers moved on the keys switching to another slow but beautiful melody.

Simon must have looked completely love-struck and had to reprimanded himself strictly that staring for so long wasn’t very polite, even if Raphael couldn’t see. God, it was simply unfair how beautiful the other man was, but seeing him like this, eyes closed in concentration, like he was trying to express the feelings with his body and his playing should be forbidden.

A few minutes later, after the music had ended and the silence had time to settle, Raphael switched to another one; faster and more light heartened than the previous ones. Opening his eyes again, he turned to Simon, lifting his chin.

“I don’t know that one,” Simon said to what he believed was Raphael asking him to play along.

“Make something up.”

Simon chewed on his lower lip. “Fine,” he agreed, laughing. “But if we sound terrible, that’s on you.”

Raphael shrugged in reply. It wasn’t like anyone could hear them.

Simon listened to the melody for a few seconds, before he stuck to the basics of improv and did what he was told. Raphael changed the music every other minute as if he was taking Simon on an adventure through different musical eras. When he noticed Raphael picking up the difficulty as well, Simon shoved his shoulder against the other’s just to mess up the rhythm and then decided to stay there. As long as Raphael wasn’t complaining, it should be fine, he told himself.

It was fun, being able to share his love for music, while they found ways to bring their instruments together. At one point, Simon just drifted off, absently playing whatever came to mind with Raphael trying to match his lines. The only reason he noticed that he had slipped into ‘Learn To Fly’ was Raphael suddenly playing it on the piano note by note.

Simon stopped just to stare at the other vampire. Considering that he had stuck to classical music all evening, Simon had honest to God assumed that Raphael didn’t know anything written in the 20th century.

“You know this song?” he asked, unable to even hide the surprise.

He felt Raphael’s shrug more than he saw it. “You play it a lot.”

“Huh,” Simon stated. It was true that he had played it several times, he just didn’t know that Raphael had picked up on that. “On bass, yeah. It’s easy—” Raphael bumped their shoulders together and Simon chuckled. “No no, it really is. I used to practice singing and playing together with that one. And I really love it.”

“Does it mean anything to you?”

“As much as any song composed by some else.”

“Meaning?”

“If I’m down, it lifts me up.”

Raphael made a sound of understanding. “Have you written your own songs?”

Thrown by the question, Simon took a moment to reply. “A few.”

“About?”

“Urgh, don’t ask,” Simon groaned, throwing his head back because he had been 15 and thought he’d be the next super star. “Teenage drama. Hating school. Being an outcast. Unrequited love. The usual teenage angst fest. I was so emo back then.”

The Latino chuckled at his embarrassing confession. “What would you write about now?”

Simon continued to stare at the ceiling, seriously contemplating the question. When he had been in a band with Maureen, she had come up with songs while Simon only added his two cents or suggested changes. He hadn’t thought about writing anything in years, putting his creative energy instead into the comic Clary and him had been working on. Now he found his creative outlet in finding solutions for quarreling vampires.

“I think,” he started, smirking, “Vampire drama. Death. Rebirth. Clan life.” ‘Unrequited love, Part 2,’ he added in his head, making a vague throw away gesture. All things considered, remembering how angry he had been for having to live his life as a vampire, he was quite happy with how it had turned out.

Raphael paused his playing, then picked it up again with a very dark theme. “Whoa, are you killing me in D minor?” He huffed out a laugh, pitying the poor instrument for the depressing sound forced out of it.

“You can tell?” Raphael asked, sounding somewhat surprised, yet immediately switched to a completely different tune all of a sudden. “Want me to do it like this?”

Simon had to look at Raphael’s fingers to see what he was doing. “The hell? B flat minor? Which one is that?”

“Harmonic,” Raphael said. “That’s Camille here.” A hiss threatened to spill over Simon’s lips at the mere mention of the name, but he managed to control himself. Raphael emphasized the middle part by repeating the notes a few times. It reminded Simon a bit of his trip to India for Camille’s residence. “Or do you prefer it in key of C major?”

“No, no. That’s for my rebirth.”

“Pure, full of innocence, simplicity, and naivety?”

“Are you quoting a book?”

“Maybe.” Which meant absolutely. “Pauer,” Raphael confirmed like an afterthought.

Simon snorted, then decided to take over the piano. “Come on. Rebirth wasn’t all that funny, either. Add at least some notes from the minor scale. Shows some of my confusion.”

“And rage,” Raphael added, changing Simon’s slow tempo to a quicker pace with deeper sound. “I remember someone throwing me against a truck.” Raphael’s voice was light as he recalled, like he was bearing no grudge. Simon however remembered something else from that day. How he had called Raphael a monster and had meant it with every fiber of his body. How he had said the Dumort was never going to be his home. How he had been wrong about both.

“How to express that?” It seemed like Raphael was talking to himself, as he hit a few notes. “F major. 16th notes. And parallels in minor?” He mused, given Simon the impression that he took the more strategical approach even in composing instead of just trial and error, as he tried a few different variations of what he had described, narrowing his eyes when he wasn’t happy with the outcome. Simon couldn’t help thinking how adorable it was, and how the words Raphael and adorable together should tear the universe asunder by their sheer polarity.

“Don’t forget to add a moment of silence for your jacket.”

As if on cue, Raphael paused. He was waiting so long before moving on that Simon almost thought he had lost his train of thought or didn’t know how to continue. When he resumed the previously established aggressive but at the same time weirdly cheerful melody, Simon let out a laugh. “Wow, that was a very long break.”

“It was a very expensive jacket,” Raphael justified.

“Everything you wear is expensive.”

“Not everything.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Raphael quirked an eyebrow at him, teasing smile on his lips. “Really?”

On second thought, no, he probably didn’t want to know more about Raphael’s wardrobe than he already did, especially not since there really wasn’t a lot left that he didn’t know, mainly underwear and accessories. Simon seriously didn’t need a mental image of Raphael in his underwear. What the hell, brain?

“Can you at least make it sound like I’m sorry for throwing you?” Simon hissed, to distract from his annoying imaginary.

“Were you?”

“Of course.” Hushing Raphael to move his hands away, Simon added a few long dark notes, proud of himself that while he was rusty he was still able to find everything he wanted.

They sat in companionable silence, while Simon continued to venture on trying to find a theme for domestic happy vampire drama, but mostly just screwing around. Raphael was content watching him, sometimes correcting his finger position or suggesting changes based on his perception of what mood vampire drama entailed.

“Why didn’t you get someone to tune the piano in the hotel?” Simon asked, apropos of nothing, breaking the silence.

“I used to play for Magnus’ sake, so I didn’t bother.”

While Raphael seemed to have at least a bit of fun messing around musically, it didn’t seem like he was all that passionate about it. At least not anymore. Maybe he had lost interest over the years, just like Derek. Simon felt a bit disappointed, and was all the more confused that Raphael wanted to learn bass now. “Did you learn to play for Magnus, too?”

“No. My mother taught me.”

“Were you forced to?”

Raphael laughed at that. “No. I wanted to learn. I loved it.”

“But?”

Raphael’s expression changed too quickly to catch, until it settled on mild resignation. “Living under Camille, was… challenging,” he began to explain. Of course it was related to her. Everything always was, Simon thought bitterly. “I was able to stand up to her because I never gave her something she could use against me, no matter how insignificant. It was one power struggle after another for years.” Raphael returned his left hand to the piano, slowly playing a few chords. “All I thought about was watching my back. Stay one step ahead, predict all possible outcomes of any interaction with her and her associates. It was about survival. I stopped thinking in terms of fun or enjoyment. Even though I continued to play as it offered a distraction, I was just going through the motions. There wasn’t any feeling behind it. I forgot my passion for it.”

Raphael added his right hand to the chords he had been playing on repeat since he had started talking. While they had sounded vaguely familiar, Simon only managed to recognized the song with the melody, eyes slightly widening in surprise as he stared at Raphael’s profile. “Until you showed up, that is.”

“Huh? What did I do?” he asked, bewildered. His brain came up blank trying to recall a fitting memory. All Simon had done was hang around Raphael, hoping he wouldn’t eat him for sticking his nose were it didn’t belong.

“Listening to your practice made me remember. But it wasn’t until I played with you that I realized how much I’ve denied myself by trying to hide behind that mask.”

“So,” Simon started, chewing on his lower lip. “You _do_ like music?”

Raphael’s chuckle was light, as he turned to Simon. “You could say that,” he replied, with a playful tilt to his head, his lips stretching into a small smile as he began to switch back into the chorus of ‘Here comes the sun’. Seriously, couldn’t Raphael have chosen a song that didn’t feed Simon’s delusions and threatened to break out his securely restrained imagination so it wouldn’t elope with daydreams and hope?

Apart from that, Simon felt his disappointment wiped away with that short sentence. It didn’t bother Simon that their interests didn’t mingle, but he was still happy that there was at least one thing were they matched.

“Is that why you want to learn bass?”

“Who knows,” Raphael replied cheekily, “Why do you learn Spanish?”

If he were still human, Simon’s face would have flushed an interesting shade of red, immediately giving away thoughts and feelings. Maybe it wasn’t fair to question Raphael’s motivation when the other had been polite enough to accept Simon’s whims without prying. He had probably dug his own grave with that question, but he hadn’t thought that after all this time Raphael would bring it up in the first place.

“Very important language,” Simon muttered, repeating the same excuse he had told himself for months now.

“Very important instrument.”

Simon scoffed, fully aware that bass was underappreciated.

“Important to you,” Raphael clarified as if catching his doubt. “Makes it important to me. Just like you.”

Simon froze as he registered the words, wondering if his mind was playing a trick on him again. His head snapped around to see Raphael’s expression, but there was nothing suggesting a deeper meaning. Something was wrong with his brain. Obviously Raphael didn’t mean anything special by it, probably meant it the same way Lily or Elliott were important. Still Simon didn’t know how to reply without broadcasting his own stupid feelings.

When Raphael turned his head at the silence, Simon, in his inner turmoil, jumped to his feet, picking up the bass on the way. “I can play it, too,” he said without a sensible segue. Luckily, he wasn’t known for sensible anything. Raphael frowned. “The song. On bass. And guitar, too, actually.”

“I know,” the other said, raising one eyebrow. “You’ve played it before.”

“Oh,” was all he offered as a reply, awkwardly standing there while searching desperately for a topic he could safely fall back to while his wishful thinking was providing vibrant pictures of a Happily Ever After that usually followed these kind of scenes in Lily’s teenager romance movies. At least if the starring actors weren’t them. Maybe Raphael had been forced to watch too many of these movies and totally lost touch with the world to throw words like that at someone without thinking of the implications. Mental resources too preoccupied with his imagination, there wasn’t much he actually managed to come up with. “You heard it from me?”

“Yes.”

“So… I’m teaching you good taste,” Simon stated with a forced smile. “First Foo Fighters, now Beatles. What’s next? Kings of Leon?”

Raphael pursed his lips, as he narrowed his eyes. Then, without further ado, he started to play something that took Simon all of ten seconds to recognize as ‘Notion’, a song that was a constant favorite on his playlist but he had never played once since he had been turned. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Because you’re the only one who knows rock?” Raphael asked, obviously struggling with the song until a few lines later he came abruptly to a halt with a noise of frustration. “I guess you’ve never seen Lily’s room.”

Now that Simon thought about it, he didn’t even know where Lily’s room was. Did she even _have_ a room? Did she sleep at all? Whenever he needed her for something she was easily found somewhere in the public areas of the hotel so he had never been in the situation to seek her out in private. Apart from that, unless Simon had to for nightmare duty, the only room besides his own that he entered was Raphael’s.

“I haven’t.”

“It’s a museum of rock music. You’d love it.” Raphael said, gaze on the piano as he hit a few keys like he was trying to remember the rest.

“Do you like it?”

“The room?” Raphael asked, confused.

“The song.”

“It’s not Rachmaninoff,” he replied, shrugging. “But it’s alright.”

Simon swallowed heavily around a knot in his throat. “Can we play it together?” he asked hesitantly picking up on a shifting mood, probably triggered by his awkward display a moment ago. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Raphael watched him for a brief moment, eyebrows furrowed. “So you’ve told me before. And yeah, I don’t mind.”

He couldn’t remember a conversation between them involving Simon’s taste in music, but it wasn’t too far off, considering his thoughts skipped through several topics in the blink of an eye and most of the time he forgot what he had been rambling about barely a few minutes later. Honestly, he neither expected nor demanded that Raphael listened to him in the first place. As it appeared, he still did. More than Simon had realized.

Dammit, Raphael should really learn to add the word friend to his vocabulary.

“Thank you,” Simon said, trying to keep the onslaught of emotion out of his voice. “About… important things. And people.” It was as close to the topic as he dared to go, even if he couldn’t return the sentiment without vomiting his love all over the place. He still felt like he shouldn’t let the previous words hang between them without acknowledgment.

Before Raphael had a chance to react to his words or even get a better look at the expression on Simon’s face, he spun around on his heels, fishing the phone out of his pockets to find the tabs to the song as he continued in a lighter tone. “It’s been ages. Kinda have to look up—” he interrupted himself as his eyes noticed the time. “The hell,” he called out, promptly turning back around to Raphael. “It’s already four in the morning.”

Raphael gave him a look of doubt, but then moved his hand to find the time on his wrist watch. With a noncommittal sound, he stood up while closing the lid of the piano. “We better postpone the song to next time, then.”

Simon dithered on the spot. He didn’t mean to imply that they had to leave _now_. They had about another hour before the alarm went off to announce the beginning of dusk. But maybe it was better that way. It gave Simon time to deal with his inability to cope with a few kind words like any other normal person by using some well-deserved self-flagellation. Also, the thought that there _was_ going to be a next time lifted his spirits immensely.

As they left the room, they quickly spotted Magnus just a few feet away, acting busy inspecting a painting on the wall with a very focused expression.

“Have you been spying on us?” Raphael asked with raised eyebrows, promptly earning an indignant huff in response.

“My dear Raphael,” Magnus started in a clipped tone, “I don’t _spy_ on people, let alone in my own home. When we returned home, we noticed you were still here. Being the gracious person that I am, I was going to inform that it was getting late, when I was distracted by this skewed painting.”

“Uhu,” Raphael replied, voice letting no room for doubt that he didn’t believe a single word.

Magnus waved his hand dismissively, while sighing dramatically. “Where did I go wrong raising you?”

Simon snorted a laugh, before muttering, “Thinking you can raise him in the first place, I wager.”

Magnus looked even more offended now, but the corner of Raphael’s lips twitched in a smile, so Simon chalked it up as a win. “That’s the thanks I get for letting you use my music room. Ungrateful brats.”

A second later, they were ushered to the front door, Simon catching Alec’s back as he vanished in the masters bedroom, quick to avoid any interaction as always. By now, Simon didn’t even took affront to that behavior anymore.

“Feel free to come by again,” Magnus offered as they reached the door, practically throwing them out. Raphael lifted his chin in reply, eyes narrowed like he was suspecting a trap, but then gave a sharp nod before dashing off. Simon waved a final goodbye at Magnus, thanking him again before following his clan leader.

* * *

Some of the songs mentioned:

[Panic Attack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hDs6mCVAKs) \- Dream Theater

[La Savane Op. 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IPSXVEWR7k) \- L. M. Gottschalk

[Etude Op. 10 No. 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yjnLmv1hHU) \- F. Chopin

[Here comes the sun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY) \- The Beatles

[Notion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NT6mB8N24_g) \- Kings of Leon

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bad with tags. Hit me up if I have to add something.


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